A Light To Rival The Darkness
by Feisty.Green.Snake
Summary: A few days latter to having rescued Page's men from Reaver's Manor, Darius wakes to find himself and his faithful dog, Rylin, stuck in a cell. It seems like the past always manages to catch up with him. But when an unknown organisation from Bloodstone is bent on killing Heroes and the nobility, the revolution takes on an unexpected turn in its tale. Fable III: Reaver/Prince.
1. A Grand Escape

**Warnings**: Please be aware that this fan-fiction will contain profanities, sexual content, many bloody battles, some character deaths (although no one that the Fable series hadn't already killed off!), and an overly obsessive usage of semi-colons and 'big' words.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Fable series. This fictional piece is for merely entertainment purposes.

Rated: **M!**

A/N: Back in the fan-fiction writing business - although truthfully, I never stopped thinking of ideas. I've just been going through some things (University, family, aspirations, etc) and was beginning to question my love for fiction - and not just fan-fiction. Anyway, enough of that - I'm back, and now attempting a first at writing a Fable III tale. So if anyone would like to try giving me feedback on how to make a character's speech or details more related to the game, you are all too welcome to give it :)

_Summary: __A few days latter to having rescued Page's men from Reaver's Manor, Darius wakes to find himself and his faithful dog, Rylin, stuck in a cell. It seems like the past always manages to catch up with him. But when an unknown organisation from Bloodstone is bent on killing Heroes and the nobility, the revolution takes on an unexpected turn in its tale. Fable III: Reaver/Prince._

**_A Light To Rivals The Darkness_**

**Chapter One: A Grand Escape**

It had been an accident the first time. He hadn't meant to kill her; it wasn't that he hadn't particularly thought about it on many an occasion, as he most certainly had after engaging in a tiresome argument with her after returning from the mercenary's camp, but before – before the accident – he would have never thought himself capable of actually committing murder.

They had been on a date – their fifth, if he remembered rightly so – and it was meant to be a peaceful getaway for them both. After countless arguments between them, and with him having so recently returned from sneaking into the mercenary's camp to complete Sabine's second task, Jennifer had wanted something of a little walk through Mistpeak Valley.

He didn't know whether it had been the mercenaries' bullets or even his own, but when he looked for her after the battle he had found her body slumped facedown in the mud, with a single bullet hole through her heart. It had to have been him; probably mistaking her movement in the trees for another mercenary, he must have shot her.

_Who else could have made an exact shot like that?_

Darius shook his head, ridding his mind of those memories. That woman, Victoria from Brightwall, had been the next mistake of his, since after going along with her husband's wishes to flirt and pretend to want to marry the woman, she'd then seized Darius' gun back at the house and killed her own husband in front of him. It must have been the loneliness from Jennifer's death or the increasing adrenaline that Victoria had caused in him. He had never met a woman who could kill so easily before, otherwise Darius didn't think he would have even slept, let alone married, that double-crossing wrench.

He let out a long groan and banged his head against the wall behind him in anger. _She's dead now, so stop bloody thinking about how she wronged you_. It was the same with his mother, his brother, and occasionally, even Walter and Jasper. Back then, he couldn't help following all those people, but he had changed since leaving his home, the castle - he reckoned he wasn't half so agreeable nor naïve now.

Perhaps his brother, Logan, had been the one to set him off by murdering all those people. 'The Hero of Brightwall', Brightwall's citizens had proclaimed him latter to helping them. Walter had even called him that name several times since then. He hadn't felt very heroic after sentencing all those people – protestors, though they might have been – to their death when he had been back in the castle, whilst allowing his fiancée at the time, Lady Elise, to live and hopefully escape.

But none of that mattered now - he wouldn't woe himself with memories. Too much had happened since he had left the castle, where he once called it his home. Darius turned his head from gazing at the stonewall opposite to take note of the sleeping guard to his left, as he stood snoring away beyond the iron bars that caged Darius and Rylin.

Darius, the Hero of Brightwall and one of the Bowerstone's rebel's leaders, had been captured, but he was almost sure that his kidnappers knew nothing of him. If they did, they wouldn't have placed him in a cell with bars that could be so easily melted by Will.

The others would also likely be wondering where he was by now. It was not so long ago that he and Walter had arrived in Bowerstone, although certainly long enough that he had already ventured about the town and gotten to know its inhabitants. _Oh yes_, he thought with smug grin, _and all under Walter's nose too._

In truth, he could have already escaped. They had gotten lucky in knocking him unconscious – he hadn't seen the man standing on the balcony above him, and holding a hammer to boot – but they had certainly been stupid enough to leave him with his dog and a sleeping guard!

Darius scowled, and decidedly placed his hands on the iron bars, focusing on the Will within him. Rylin rose from where he was lying and trotted over to his side, and barked twice loudly. Darius turned and hushed him in to settling down by tapping him gently on the nose.

The guards had seen fit to take his clothes, weapons, and gauntlets, but did he truly need his gauntlets to release his Will powers? _Apparently not. _Even if he couldn't channel his Will through a gauntlet, he began burning down two bars of the prison he was in. Channelling his Will was admittedly more difficult without a gauntlet, for his Will was all the more wilder and harder to focus on now, but he could still feel it's power racing beneath his fingertips.

The iron melted into a smoking grey-coloured puddle beneath his feet.

Darius stepped out between the bars and picked up his weaponry – his gauntlets, rifle and sword, with the latter two settled near the belt he usually hooked over his back to hold them – from the table.

He also snatched up the two Seals that were lying beside his weapons: the first his mother had given to him at a young age, and while he couldn't remember the story, he knew she'd been given it by some long-forgotten Temple; and the second, he had collected whilst journeying through the castle's family tomb with Jasper and Walter.

Remarkably, the guard was still sleeping a few feet away from him, and the noises he was making could only be attributed to snoring or grunting sounds, as if he were more piggish than human.

Snorting angrily at having been ignored, Darius sidestepped the desk and walked over towards him, bringing his hand – with the discoloured gauntlets once more attached – to the chest height. As the guard's eyes flickered open, as he perhaps sensed the heat of another standing so near, or even caught how his gauntlets were now lighting up, they then widened in fear.

"You – you're out," he gasped. "You're not supposed to be out!"

"And I suppose you weren't meant to be sleeping on the job either," the Hero retorted, smirking as he noticed how Rylin was growing at the man.

Darius placed his hand upon the guard's chest and cast a furious charge of lighting to erupt through the man. The guard could do no more than scream in agony before he withered and collapsed to the stone floor.

_I'll need his clothes_, Darius thought, and not without grimacing. He wasn't in the habit of stealing from dead men, but he was naked as a babe - or worse, as his genitals and pubic hair were showing as plain as the nose on his face, and he most assuredly wasn't an exhibitionist! Besides, there was a slight chance that the man's voice had alerted more guards and any clothes, even if only thinly fabricated, were better than fighting bare-arsed.

He clothed himself in the guard's shaggy brown breeches and tattered boots, although they were a size too big for him. He hadn't touched the man's filthy shirt; with all the rips and stains, the white tattered thing would be of little use in combat. Making to loop his sword and rifle over his back by piercing them through the belt holes that he had made since leaving the castle, Darius then made to leave the dungeon – with all its empty cells – by exiting up the staircase situated not a few feet from him.

After walking onwards for only some time, he began to become discomforted, as the stony walls bore no torches fixed onto them. He held out his palm and lit up a small flame within it before pressing on up the steps.

"We should have killed him already. Let me, darling," an enraged woman's voice echoed. "I wouldn't mind, not when we can finally be together."

Darius didn't recognise the voice, but as he continued on he came face-to-face with a wooden door that held a small but bared window, which allowed him to sneakily peer through.

The room appeared to be a main hallway; it held no great furnishings, but enough paintings and exotic-looking plants to be called extravagant. There were three doors that he could see in the room, excluding the one he was now leaning against, and two guards who were standing beside each one. But for now, he was more interested in the voice speaking beyond the door.

"...don't want him dead," a man's voice hissed, which Darius determined was Banal: a local bartender, and a man whom Darius had dallied in bed with often since coming to Bowerstone. But their _boot-knocking_ had certainly been no more than simple sexual release for him.

Nevertheless, if Darius was learning anything from Banal's current behaviour, standing so close to the woman that their foreheads were touching and their hands were lovely grasping one another's, he would have guessed at them being lovers.

"Then why did I go to all this trouble of capturing the man?" the woman growled. "Tell me, what did you even think we were going to do with him once we caught him, huh?"

"I dunno…send him packing," suggested Banal, sighing quietly. "I barely know the bloke, but he's powerful…and, and he's rich. He owns practically all of Bowerstone. He could hunt us down...I wanted us safe, Catherine, that's why I suggested we hire some people to bring him down."

Darius' snorted. Although he had become richer in the passing months, and certainly more powerful, it hadn't been easy. He had spent many a night fighting with Walter and his dog as they journeyed across Albion, and the scars he had gained – both mentally and physically – reminded him every day of it. He bent his hand to ruffle Rylin's stroke behind his ear, just to make sure his dog hadn't wandered off.

"Sweetheart, I know," said Catherine, with a hand to caressing the man's face. "We'll leave for somewhere nice soon enough, but we can't until we deal with this man. This – oh, what did you say his name was again?"

"Daniel," he answered. "His name is Daniel."

_No, you stupid man_, Darius thought angrily, with his hands fisting in aggravation. _That's just the name I told you whilst I was trying to pick you up._

"Come then, darling," she said. "Let us finally go deal with this Daniel."

_That's it._ Darius grasped hold of the door's handle, turned it, and shoved the door back against its hinges so that he and Rylin, not only startled the couple as they walked entered through the doorway, but had made them step back a few paces in fright.

"Daniel," Banal gasped. "You escaped…how?"

"Easily," grunted Darius, making to pull his rifle from his looped belt, "although I expected someone far better than you to have captured me. Someone far…well, just bigger really."

"Guards, quickly - seize him!" screeched Catherine. "Seize that man!"

Six men – clearly mercenaries, Darius believed, since there was no longer a door between them to obscure them – began approaching, armoured in leather jackets and wielding swords, while he wore only breeches and carried a rifle and sword. However, Darius had always regarded himself as a most brilliant marksman with any long-range weapon.

He cast three magical blades to fly towards three of the men, before then firing two shots at another to his left. Rylin was growling and jumping beside him excitedly, but as the men started waving their swords at the magical blades, trying to knock them away, he joined the fight by bounding in to sink his teeth in a man's leg.

The one mercenary left, now alarmed but holding a fearsome gaze, charged at him, ignoring the flailing of his mate beside him, since Darius' rifle's shots had hit their mark exactly in the man's groinal area.

Darius knew he couldn't reload his gun in time, and was barely able to dodge the thrust of the mercenary's sword. He leapt back, and sideways, and then again, before his mind thought to produce another mystical blade; and, as the mercenary's sword was inches from his bared chest in another attempt to make him bleed, Darius brought forth his hand from behind his back and sunk a shining golden blade right through the man's chest.

As the mercenary spluttered profanities, cradling his bleeding chest with his hands as he crumbled to the floor in agony, Darius lifted his gaze to watch the men whom were dealing with his other aerial blades.

One blade had been flung into a wall, and it burst into golden-coloured dust when Darius drew his eyes over it. A few feet away, Banal had backed himself up against the wall, with Catherine standing in front of him and wielding a sword. One of the three mercenaries lay dead on the floor; Rylin looked to have dug his teeth into the mercenary's leg, taking off fleshy chunks and clothing from him, before then making for the man's face.

The two mercenaries left caught Darius' gaze and began hastily backing away, as his blades were still homing in on their movements, until they were near enough to the door on Darius' right that they both turned and scrambled through it at once. It was only then that the last of his magical blades disintegrated into golden dust.

Catherine's face twisted into a venomous form, with her brunette hair now lying askew and rather wild, her brown eyes narrowed, and her shapely lips thinned into a hardened line. Darius thought he should have been quite taken with her vicious nature and attractive looks had he not had enough experience with angry women lately.

Perhaps he was even growing bored with partners that held vicious tendencies, since playing the husband role in Brightwall with Victoria had certainly shown him how vile a partner could be in marriage.

Nevertheless, Catherine was grasping her sword with both hands with clear vengeance in her eyes, as if she were going to swing it at him like some hammer.

"You're a coward…relying on your, your magic the way you do!" she snarled.

"I need not use it to defeat you," remarked Darius, and momentarily looking to his dog as Rylin, with blood smeared across his fur, returned to his side. "Can you even use that sword? Try me…"

Catherine's expression changed to one of uncertainty, but nonetheless determined. She charged at him, her body's movements clearly intending to swing it and catch his throat. Darius threw his rifle a corner in the room and seized his own sword from the belt, swinging it around his head to meet her full on with a loud clattering smash of metal against metal.

The woman wasn't the most capable swordsman, but her reflexes were able enough so that she was quick to avoid, and occasionally even meet, his thrusts and swings. However, Darius had been a swordsman since having snatched up his first sword from the Royal Armoury at the age of six, and accidentally, as well as loudly, knocking over a suit of a suit of armour with it. Apparently, his mother had then demanded that Walter be recruited to teach him the fine art of wielding a sword before he truly did bloody himself.

Darius raised his sword daringly; Banal's calls of terror were beginning to irritate him, and so Darius angrily thrust his sword again and again at Catherine. Their swords met numerous times, but when Darius shoved against her with an elbow jab, causing her to stumble backwards, he swung then again to bleed her chest. She gasped through the pain as his sword made a long swipe from her left hip to her shoulder, where he then grasped his sword with both hands to embody it into her shoulder.

She screamed - until she could no longer scream - and then she was gasping in pain. The blood was already soaking through her clothes, and Darius twisted his sword before drawing it out with a satisfied smirk, as her blood began dripping on to the patterned carpet. Catherine fell to her knees and dropped her sword; her hands now occupied with stopping the blood flowing from her body.

Looking up, Darius observed that Banal was still standing motionless against the wall, with his lips gaping wide open and his terrified eyes fixed on Darius' movement. _How could I have bedded a man so cowardly?_

"Now, Banal," said Darius, "what could have possibly made you think that I wished to date _you_? At best, I find you a reasonable fuck, but then I should have realised that your ego was larger than –"

Darius stopped speaking - he had distinctly heard two shots being fired off in the room to his left, and perhaps the clanking of swords meeting! He could even spot a moving shape now through the glazed window that was fitted on the wooden door.

"Sodding balls, you said you knew where he'd be!" came Walter's unmistakable voice.

Darius could have laughed with joy.

"Why, my overly bearded fellow, I know where every one of _importance_ is in my city. Especially that charming little Prince of yours."

Another shot followed and the door swung open against its hinges, revealing three men – two with swords in their hands, the other with a pointed pistol – and two mercenaries that, with not now a door to slide down against, collapsed to the floor in the doorway.

But Darius' happiness faded abruptly; his brow narrowed sharply.

"Someone had better start explaining why Reaver's bloody here," he demanded.

Dressed impeccably, the man was wearing his usual his blatantly white coat, heeled black boots, and was carrying his cane in the hand that wasn't holding his pistol; and Darius knew he shouldn't have expected anything different about the man. Reaver really didn't seem the type of person who dressed without always giving his appearance the most careful of considerations.

"We didn't know where you'd gone…and _he_ came to us, insisting that he knew," said Ben Finn, clearly aggravated by the idea of Reaver being in the same room with them, let alone breathing the same air.

"Well, of course I knew," sneered Reaver; and yet his expression turned to one of smugness, as his gaze circulated over to Darius, "...After all, one so rarely misses the good old gossiping among the common folk these days. It would seem that our dear Hero's escapes have made the talk of the town – why, you were even talked about in my darling home before I had all of those gossiping nitwits shot."

A momentary feeling of gratefulness - as well as resentment, of course - filled Darius. He hated how people were now talking about him behind his back, even if they were saying positive things.

"I didn't half believe the lout at first," exclaimed Walter, as he walked into the room and his gaze swept over Banal and Catherine's figures, "…Found Reaver wandering Bowerstone's Market and asking after you, and he didn't say much else other than that he'd figured out where you'd been taken."

"I still say he could have led us into a trap," grumbled Ben.

"Oh, come now, surely you do not think that I would have scrounged about at the docks with the peasantry for nothing?" argued Reaver, before then turning to Darius. "Your dearest big brother has placed a rather bountiful sum of money on your _delectable_ body being returned to him alive and unharmed. I was merely thinking of how much our poor King Logan must miss his younger sibling, and so logically determined that, if you were perhaps - say – already caught by some of his troops, it would seem all the better if the grand Reaver himself were to return you than if a bunch of moronic troops achieved such a feat."

"Bloody traitor," spat Ben, with his face turning crimson red, "...well, you're obviously not getting him now, Reaver,"

Reaver grinned beneath his top hat. "I am not the one with a face painted across wanted posters that have been hung all over Albion - that honour lies with you and your little friends. But I dare say, you wouldn't mind telling me of your Headquarters' location; I could certainly make it worth your while."

"Over my dead body, Reaver," Ben growled.

Reaver banged his cane against the carpet. "That could be easily arranged," he sneered.

Walter rounded his gaze over them. "Never you two mind that now - we've got to get out of here."

"Oh right, so now you lot fancy telling me where the hell I am," moaned Darius, his eyes flickering between Banal and Catherine. "You know, you lot could have also bloody arrived earlier."

"It does one good to arrive fashionably late, actually. Although, _mon petit prince_," said Reaver in his usual sensual tone, as his eyes blatantly wandered over Darius' bared and bloody stained chest, "it does seem that you've been preoccupied in starting your own extravagant party. Albeit a poor one it seems, though – why, I see no sumptuous alcoholic beverages nor ravenous orgies in sight!"

Walter shook his head, ignoring Reaver's last comment. "We came in through Bowerstone's Market's tavern, lad, and I think we're not far from the trapdoor we used. No doubt, we should start making our way back..."

Darius wasn't fully listening; he was scowling at Reaver. His comment about Darius starting a party...it reminded him about Reaver's one only a few days back. With a closer viewpoint now, rather than craning his head upwards as he had in Reaver's ballroom, Darius could not find it possible to argue against himself - without purposely lying - over how Reaver was truly a handsome man.

He cocked his fingers instinctively around the helm of his sword, with the memory of the balverines lingering on his mind, and having to shake it mentally away. _So long as I live, I never want to see another blasted balverine again._

"You all right, there, lad?" Walter asked, apparently having not noticed how Darius' thoughts and gaze had wandered away from him.

Ben had likely noticed, but, given how the soldier also hated the man, as well as how Page and Darius had voiced numerous profanities against Reaver over the past few days, he'd probably figured Darius' thoughts to be entirely set on being angry with infamous tycoon.

"I'm fine," Darius murmured.

Reaver must have noticed that Darius had been staring, judging by how his smirk widened to the point where his cheekbones became more prominent, but his annoyance with Reaver was effortlessly subsided when in the corner of his eyes Darius spotted Banal making cautious footsteps towards the door on the right-end of the room - the one where the two mercenaries had formerly fled through.

With swift reflexes, Darius looped his sword back on to his back and seized the rifle from whence he had thrown it to the ground. Banal's mouth dropped open, and yet voiced no sounds; he was still standing against the wall, motionless but shaking, and with wet eyes. Darius cocked his fingers into the trigger and pulled.

The sound and smells carried about the room; the gurgling of Banal's bloody voice, when the shot had pressed straight through his throat, as he fell to the floor, and the distinctive smell of gunpowder from the smoking rifle, Arkwright's Flintlock – Darius' most favoured rifle.

"You – you killed him," came Catherine's voice, as she had turned to gaze upon him, looking as if she dared not believe such a bloody sight.

Darius raised an eyebrow. "And what did you expect me to do, congratulate him on capturing me?"

Catherine's gaze turned sharply onto him, and she tried reaching towards her sword with the hand that wasn't clutching at her shoulder wound.

"Ah, ah," said Darius, letting his left hand fall from his gun to shake a finger mockingly from side to side, "best not to try it. You wouldn't want to be shot as well, eh?"

"No, you can't mean that you still want to kill her!" said Ben, stepping forward. "She's unarmed and wounded - she's not even a threat to you now."

"I protest most vigorously. Why would one being wounded ever matter when her own intentions were to kill you?" said Reaver. "If you let this wrench leave, it is only logical that she will only return to seek vengeance."

"Your mother was kind-hearted, lad, you'd do well to remember that," Walter argued. "She showed mercy on her enemies, and they didn't think to take advantage, lest she then decide to kill them the second time around."

"Bah! – you're mother was _too_ kind-hearted," said Reaver, "and her enemies were simply too foolish or frightened to rise up against such a beloved Queen, one that was also a Hero might I so humbly add."

"Yeah, but you're a bloody bastard, Reaver. I bet you've never shown anyone the slightest bit of kindness in your life, let alone a thing called mercy," Ben jibed.

Reaver looked about to respond when Darius quickly held up a hand, silencing their chatter.

"It's my decision, and I say she dies."

Walter looked disappointed in him as he shook his grey-bearded face, whilst Ben's expression turned to one of irritation; but neither one made to argue against him. Reaver, with his raised brow and twirling cane, was perhaps the only one in the room who looked the slightest bit amused by the situation.

Darius raised his gun with both hands; but no sooner did his fingers begin to press down on the trigger than did Catherine swirl her body to trip him with her legs, and as Darius fell, his fingers were further hard-pressed onto the trigger and the gun was let off into the ceiling.

Catherine seized her sword, and Darius rolled hastily onto his side as a large chunk of plastering broke off from the ceiling above him. Thankfully, it missed his head by inches, but he spotted how Catherine had already gotten to her feet and had shoved through Walter and Ben to make for the door that lead to the tavern's exit.

Darius, grabbing his gun and aiming for her back just as she was in the doorway, found that he could not shoot – the damned rifle had no bullets left in it! He clambered to his feet and made to chase after the woman through the doorway into the next room, barely giving notice to his companions as he shoved Ben out of his path.

"Oi, watch it, Hero," barked Ben.

Latching the weapon onto his back as he quickly observed down the room's two exits, he could see Catherine had gained only a measly head-start and quickly made to continue chasing after her.

"How mundanous you people are, with all this running about in hallways," echoed Reaver's voice, although he was clearly following them judging by how close and breathy his voice seemed.

"Shut up, Reaver," he heard Walter snap back in anger.

He was catching up to her. Catherine's form could be no more than a few feet away; her long brunette hair perhaps an arms' length away at most, and with her shoulder she would have to stop sooner or later. But as Darius chased her through corridors, killing more of her mercenaries and damning her for avoiding the Will spells he aimed her way, she then managed to grab onto the ladder that would lead up through the trapdoor.

Darius seized her ankle, but she kicked his hands away and scrambled further up. He climbed up, threw himself over the bar's counter and ran outside into the streets; but alas, she had lost herself in the crowd of morning shoppers.

Darius let out an aggravated groan, and could only sigh as Rylin walked up to him, sat and began rubbing his head gently against his left leg.

"Your woman got away then, I take it?" jibed Ben Finn, sounding almost happy she had, as he came marching out through the doorway with Walter and Reaver following on closely behind.

"She was not my woman...but yes, she did get away."

"Balls," murmured Walter faintly. He sighed, "I don't suppose you'll be telling us what that was all about then, eh?"

"Later…perhaps," said Darius.

"Well, little Prince, while this has all been quite the most joyous morning, traipsing through corridors into the depths beneath a local, lowly Inn-keep establishment," remarked Reaver, turning to Darius and tapping his cane once more against the ground, "I am afraid that business waits for no man – not even one so handsome as I – and that now I must return to my beloved factories."

Ben made to grab his rifle from his back, but Darius stopped him by seizing one of his wrists; and smirking, possibly from Darius' refusal to have him shot _this _time, Reaver removed his hat and bowed so low that he met Darius' hips. Ben snorted, and pulled his wrist away from Darius' grip on it.

"I do so hope to have the same pleasure in meeting you again, _mon petit Prince_," Reaver acclaimed, with an alluring wink before rising to full height and glancing over at Darius' glaring companions, "although perhaps in a much more _private_ setting perhaps next time, _oui_?"

Darius rolled his eyes; he half wanted to burst out laughing at the thought of he and Reaver spending more alone time together, while on the other half he wanted to kill the egotistical man standing before him. "Goodbye, Reaver," he murmured, hoping to hide both his amusement and desire by saying as little words as rightfully possible.

"Ah, then I shall leave you to dwell on such delicious thoughts," Reaver laughed. "Tatty-bye."

Swinging his cane by his side, Reaver turned and began walking down the road that led to Bowerstone Industrial. _The guy looks like he doesn't have a care in the world…bloody git_, Darius thought enviously.

"Page will never believe this," Ben remarked.

"You're going tell the girl we met with her arch-enemy, Reaver, allowed him to help us and then let him walk away unscathed?" mused Walter, with his greying eyebrows raised. He snorted, "She'll have your head on a platter, boy."

"Actually, I don't think I should be the one to tell her, Walter," said Ben, with an almost malicious grin on his face. "Instead, I think our Hero here should have that honour."

"I think _this _Hero would much more prefer to have a nice, hot bath," said Darius, and actually laughing now, "so I'll be seeing you all tomorrow at the base."

But Walter grabbed his arm before he could take even a single step forwards.

"You sure you're all right now, lad, aren't cha?" asked Walter attentively. "Only, the man you killed down there…you won't be getting into anymore trouble like that, I dare hope?"

"I'm fine, Walter," reassured Darius, forcing a smile. He motioned down to his dog, "Come on, Rylin. I think you and I are urgently in need of some grub to eat after spending all those hours down there."

Rylin stood and barked excitedly, and Darius couldn't help but release a smile again.

"Well, we'll see you two tomorrow – bright and early, then," chuckled Ben.

Waving goodbye, Darius walked off down the main road of the marketplace and rounded a corner to escape from their view. He had no intention of heading to his home in Millfields just yet, for there was someone he still wanted to visit in Bowerstone's Old Quarter district first.


	2. An Unexpected Alliance

**Warnings**: Please be aware that this fan-fiction will contain profanities, sexual content, many bloody battles, some character deaths (although no one that the Fable series hadn't already killed off!), and an overly obsessive usage of semi-colons and 'big' words.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Fable series. This piece of fiction is being written for merely entertainment purposes.

Rated: **M!**

A/N: Hey, just a short note here. My main reason for liking Fable is the comedy, but I'm terrible at writing comedy - seriously, just terrible - so any ideas on getting better? Also, I hope you like Darius as a Hero so far; I think Fable places too much importance on the Hero aspect and so doesn't allow players to personally customise their Heroes, which is mostly shown in Fable: Journey. Anyway, watch out – Reaver isn't the only one who can have a foul past. But yes, since it's Reaver, the Shadow Court will be appearing, though not in the conventional way ;)

_Summary:__ A few days latter to having rescued Page's men from Reaver's Manor, Darius wakes to find himself and his faithful dog, Rylin, stuck in a cell. It seems like the past always manages to catch up with him. But when an unknown organisation from Bloodstone is bent on killing Heroes and the nobility, the revolution takes on an unexpected turn in its tale. Fable III: Reaver/Prince._

**_A Light To Rival The Darkness_**

**Chapter Two: An Unexpected Alliance**

Darius made his way through the Old Quarter. Although he was admittedly hungry and eager to know how his son was doing, he couldn't help but notice that the nanny might start asking questions if he turned up both shirtless and covered in blood.

Fortunately, he managed to buy himself a new shirt from one of the few shops in the district; and, as getting rid of some of the blood on his arms and legs, he spat and managed to wipe most of it away. The Old Quarter district was so much nicer, cleaner, than Bowerstone Industrial, and he realised quite begrudgingly that he had been spending way too much time in the Industrial district recently.

Observing another stall that was open, Darius decided to buy a gift for his unplanned visit: a teddy bear. Although only a year old , he knew his son was becoming a fast learner. But that didn't have to mean that Darius was about to start giving his – and likely only – child toy guns.

No, unlike himself when he apparently recieved his first toy at only a year old, his son wasn't going to be touching a weapon until he was at least eight; and, only then, would he be allowed a _small_ toy gun.

Passing several more shops and stalls as he walked up the hill, and pausing by the gates to admire the house that he had chosen for his son to reside in, Darius walked around the railings up to the house and pulled out a key from inside one of his breeches' pockets to unlock the front door and step inside.

The house was fairly luxurious inside; Darius wasn't the wealthiest man yet, having purchased only a few houses in Brightwall and Bowerstone, but he could certainly afford to give his son a comfortable upkeep to live on.

The nanny was beside the stove, cooking; and turning his head to the left, Darius spotted his son, Tristan, sitting on the carpet beside the bookcase. He had only recently learnt to crawl, and was now playing with a rubber ducky.

"Well, this is an unexpected visit," said the nanny. Darius turned to face her, and she smiled. "You've come to check up on him, eh? Could've given me a warning at least, but sit yourself down – we're just about to have dinner – and I think I've made more than enough for him and myself. Do you think you could put the little man in his chair?"

Darius nodded, and ventured over to his son.

"Hey kiddo."

"Dad-dy!" cried Tristan, as his eyes drifted from his rubber ducky to take notice as to who had entered the house. "Up – up!"

Darius laughed and picked him up, placing him in the chair that was built with two extra planks either side for safety. He hadn't realised how demanding his son was, especially after learning a few words. He hadn't been home when Tristan had been crying and screamed out his first word, "Daddy", as he'd been stuck in some playwright's book for over a week. However, since then, Darius had made sure that he visited his son at least every few days.

The nanny brought over a bowl of mushroom and celery soup, with some meat a seperate plate, whilst then giving Tristan his own bowl of mashed-up foods and a bottle of warm milk. Darius scrambled to consume his food quickly, having not eaten since morning.

"You're hungry, I see," said the nanny, pointing towards the splodges of soup around Darius' mouth. "Mind you, you're son is just as bad."

While the nanny may have been feeding Tristan, it didn't help that he seemed more interested in his daddy now and was barely taking notice of where the nanny was directing his spoon. Twice was the nanny forced to tell Tristan to open his mouth and chew better.

Nevertheless, after dinner, Darius spent the last few hours of daylight playing with his son on his mat beside the bookcase. He presented him with the new teddy bear, which Tristan had taken an instant liking to and ended up calling 'Mr. Tubbs'; although Darius reasoned that the name had perhaps more to do with the teddy's exceedingly stuffed-up belly than anything else.

But as darkness fell and the nanny announced that it was now nearing eight o'clock, Darius then carried his little boy up the stairs and tucked him into his cot. Tristan rolled over onto his side and wrapped his arms around his new teddy bear.

"Nights, dad-dy," he murmured.

Darius' smile widened. _How could I have doubted having him?_

"Night. Tristan. I'll see you soon."

Tristan yawned sleepily, and peaked an eye open.

"Dad-dy promises?"

"Dad promises," he replied, nodding.

"Good."

Darius' eyebrows rose. _Demanding little sod,_ he thought, and chuckled out loud. _Don't think I'd want him any other way, though._

He made his way back downstairs to see the nanny tidying up the toys that Tristan and he had been playing with.

"Tristan is a dear little boy," she said, "but he always makes such a mess with this toys."

Darius nodded and made his way over to the front door.

"Thank you for the dinner. I'll be sure to pay extra into the upkeep this week," he said.

"It's all right," the nanny replied, shrugging as she placed a few of Tristan's toys into a drawer. "I think it was good for him to see you – and good of you to give him the bear. Other than me, he's had no one else here to play with, and it's always nice seeing you two playing together."

The nanny walked towards him, smiling gratefully. She was by no means an old woman, but she was certainly older than Darius, judging by the wrinkles around her eyes; and yet, with her long curly hair – black as the night – and warm brown eyes, she looked almost like a porcelain doll.

She placed herself inches from his body; Darius reached out to stop her, gripping her arms in an attempt to hold her back. _What the hell is she –_

"You know, while he's asleep, he could – er – play together ourselves, if you fancied it?" she whispered softly.

"No, I'm afraid, just – no," he murmured, shaking his head. His hands forced her to take a step back, albeit reluctantly. "I generally make it a rule not to sleep with those looking after my son."

"Oh, I see," she muttered, her expression turning to a scowl. Darius hoped she would accept his answer with grace; and he watched her step further back from him, her head cast down.

"I am sorry, but my son – he comes first in everything," Darius explained.

"Don't worry yourself - I see what's wrong," she said, bringing her eyes up to face him again, "you've got another on the side, haven't you?"

"Another _what_ – another nanny? Tristan is my only son, so I hardly think I'd need –"

"No, you blabbering idiot! I meant another woman," raged the nanny. "Another woman doing your cleaning, helping you dress, taking care of your house. Everyone in the district knows you own at least a dozen houses, so you must have your own house – and other keepers – for your whims."

Darius frowned.

"Well, yes, I do have a house out of the rentals I have, but I don't –"

"See, you admit it!" she screamed; and venturing her hand into her apron's pocket, Darius' eyes widened in alarm to see her take out a pistol. "I knew you had a lover on the side!"

"I don't have a lover – I haven't had one in months – and calm down or you'll wake Tristan," he urged quickly. "Please, don't do something stupid. You don't know who I am, and if you dare fire that gun I guarantee you won't live to find out."

"Oh, I know who you are, murderer!" she shouted. "You murdered those two women, your wives, in Brightwall and dallied with others – but you won't with me! See, I have cousins in Brightwall, and they told me rumours about you – rumours that you tortured your wives before killing them. I'd planned on fucking you and then killing you sometime in your sleep, but this way works just as well...least I won't torture you like you did ta your poor wives."

"That's not true!" Darius growled. "My first wife died two years back whilst we were out by Bower Lake, as we were attacked by bandits and she was killed; and my second was cheating on me with the ruddy Blacksmith of Brightwall! Hell, I even admit it, I did kill my second wife. I'm almost glad that I killed the damned bitch – I was in a jealous rage and Victoria had never loved me, or even our son, Tristan. "

She huffed. "That matters little to me. I was willing to let that all go…plenty of people these days settle matters by killing each other. My last boyfriend was like that, and I bet you're the same. But then I heard rumours about you being the Prince and butchtering people like your brother. I bet you can't even remember my name, can you?"

Darius' swallowed and tried frantically to remember. He hated the gossipers he met in the streets, and this woman apparently believed everything she was told. He wasn't scared for himself, but his son was in the room above and a gun could easily go through walls to hurt him – and _that_ he was terrified of.

"It's – you're name isn't Beatrice, is it?" he asked.

"Ha! It's Lydia, Lydia Bones," she pointed out, snorting darkly, "but I'll be sure not to tell your son _your_ name when he's grown to be a just man by my teachings. Say goodbye, Darius."

She pressed her fingers against the trigger, but Rylin was faster. His dog leapt forwards and tore into her leg, and she shrieked, dropping the pistol and trying to shake him off. Darius stepped towards her, kicking the pistol aside and seizing the Bloodstone Bludgeon hammer from his back, which he had picked up earlier from the Sanctuary.

"Sire, please, don't harm me. Tell him to stop – please, anything," Lydia begged, and Darius' glanced down to notice how her blood was now dripping and forming a small puddle on the wooden floor.

Rylin's latch only deepened, and she screamed. There was a distant cry from above –_ Tristan! He's awake_. Darius tightened his grip around the hammer, staring into her weeping eyes.

"Get out," he whispered, motioning to the door beside him with his hammer, since the weapon required two hands to wield it.

Rylin seemed to understand, and, albeit reluctantly, he unlatched his jaw from her leg. But she just stood there – impassive, motionless, and staring.

"I said for you to get out –_ get out of my house_!"

Lydia ran to the door, despite her limping leg, and she all but never once looked back as she made her way hastily down the steps.

Darius' hands were still shaking as he held the hammer, though, and he turned to the door.

"If I ever see you near my son again, I won't hesitate to kill you!" he shouted across the lawn; and she must have heard it, for she froze beside the gate, before then scampering away into the night.

Darius slammed the door shut; he no longer cared if the neighbours had heard everything. As soon as dawn came, he'd pack up Tristan's things and move him somewhere else, probably to the Industrial district, given how little time he would have to move before making for the Headquarters' later in the morning. Thinking about the future further, whether he would later sell or rent out this house, he supposed now that he didn't really care.

Tristan was clearly crying now. It had been harder to hear with Lydia's screaming, Rylin's growling, and his own shouting, but now Tristan's cries were the only thing to be heard in the house.

Scrunching up his eyes to the point that they squeezed shut, as he tried to downplay how close his son had been to becoming injured, and dropping his hammer – hearing it _thump!_ against the ground – and feeling Rylin's furry head against his leg, Darius sighed, opened his eyes and, in desperation, dashed up the staircase to see his son.

Tristan was wide-awake, crying, and tossing and turning in his cot. Mr Tubbs, his new teddy bear, had somehow fallen over the edge, and Darius returned it to lie beside his son. But that wasn't enough.

Darius picked his son up in his arms, cradling and rocking him.

"It's okay, Tris'," he murmured softly. He was sure there were tears springing to his eyes. "Your dad's still here. It's okay, nothing's wrong. Everything's okay…"

He hated lying – he hated that he was lying when his son would need a new home and a different nanny tomorrow. The orphanage was sure to provide another one, but that didn't make this any better. _Would she have killed him while I wasn't here?_ Darius tried not to dwell too much on that thought.

When Tristan finally stopped crying, Darius laid him back down in his cot and brought over a chair from beside the window. He wouldn't be going to sleep tonight – he wouldn't be able to sleep even if he tried – and Rylin, who had been sitting beside him in silence while Tristan cried, went to settle down beside Darius' feet.

Darius' brushed his fingers against Rylin's fur, finding the softness both comforting and calming. His dog had always been faithful to him – he had never let him down nor stay sad for long.

He sighed. _I should probably start packing soon…_

/***\

Tristan now resided in the Industrial district with a new nanny. Albeit Darius hadn't wanted to house him there, with all the sewage, pollution, disdainful factories, drunkards, and protestors, he had little other options. Catherine could be still hiding out in the Market district, Lydia in the Old Quarter, and since he needed to see Walter and the others this morning, he didn't really have time to check out any other houses. Darius would have preferred Millfields for his son, but now it would be unlikely if they moved out from the Industrial district within the week, since Page was sure to have something for him to do.

However, he had made sure to check out this new nanny. He had informed the Orphanage only that the nanny had attempted to sexually assault him, and so they were only too happy to let him question the new one thoroughly before hiring; and while Tristan played with the other children, Darius asked them their names, birth dates, past experiences, personalities, teaching styles, and by the time he was finished, he seriously doubted that there had been a single question that he hadn't asked.

The new nanny was called Alex, and he was rather old with greying hair and gentle blue eyes, but he seemed to have enough spirit to be able to handle Tristan, who Darius knew more often than naught spent his time just playing with toys, sucking a bottle and sleeping the days away.

With Tristan's things already inside, but not yet unpacked, Darius had set Alex to work straight away in unpacking all of the bags and chests. It had been tiresome work venturing to Bowerstone Industrial with Tristan on his hip simply to hire some men and show them the new house, whilst then returning to the Old Quarter to make sure that they had moved out all of the things from the old house.

But it had all been done, and pressing his lips against his child's forehead as he slept, wishing him goodbye with great reluctance, Darius then left Alex to attend to his son so that he could visit the Bowerstone's Revolutionary Headquarters.

Only, after entering through the sewer door, he spotted Major Swift, predictably having come from the war room.

"Ah, there you are," greeted Major Swift on approach. "I'd best warn you to beware of angering young Page today, lad. She seems to be out for your blood."

"That's all anyone seems to want nowadays – my blood," Darius scoffed.

"Well, you've clearly been keeping them at bay so far," replied Swift, grinning beneath his twitching moustache. "I'm just off to the castle to help us gather more forces. No doubt, I'll find out if Logan's planning anything as well."

"Good luck to you, then, Swift."

"Aye," he replied, moving to walk by him, "and I'll hope to see you again, my Prince."

After watching Swift leave, Darius made his way to the Headquarters' main room. Walter was leaning over the war table, with his hands gripping the edges of the map in what Darius could only reason was through frustration; Ben was shaking his head opposite, with a hand pressing against his forehead, whilst Page was scowling beside him.

Page groaned. "Ben, you can't ser – oh, here comes the notorious Prince."

"Now, it wasn't entirely his fault about yesterday," said Ben. "Those guys did kidnap Darius and Rylin, remember. If they hadn't done that, we wouldn't have needed Reaver's help."

"Yes, blame the kidnappers. Especially when it's actually his fault," she stressed. "With the Prince's name on every wanted poster about town, no matter that Logan wants his brother taken in alive, you would still think His Majesty here would be more careful with whom he drags into bed."

Darius scoffed, albeit he felt a little smug though. "In my defence, the bartender didn't even know my real name. I went under a false one whilst I was picking him up."

"You're digging yourself a ditch there, lad," Walter murmured, bringing himself up to full height. The man seemed better then yesterday in spirits and health, but appeared still as concerned.

Darius sighed; his good mood from having seen Swift was now vanishing quickly.

"Look, Logan hasn't been able to catch me yet, and I'm afraid to say this, Page, but I do have a life outside of this revolution," he argued. "I won't let my elder brother's wrath rule my life."

Page's brow narrowed, and she crossed her arms. "We all have a life outside this revolution, Prince, and we're that by defeating Logan we can keep - and better - those lives. You need to put this revolution ahead of your selfish needs to _boot-knock_ if we're going to win this."

"Boot-knocking isn't the only bloody thing my life consists of out of this place, you know," he growled furiously.

"Mate, we don't want details," mocked Ben, even cringing.

Darius almost growled at the lack of care they showed for his life outside of this revolution, but choose instead to remain silent. No one knew about Tristan; Jasper mentioned that his wealth had depleted after his two marriages, and again a few times after paying Lydia, the last nanny, for Tristan's upkeep, but Darius had informed Jasper that it had all been spent on the repairing of rental houses. It hadn't been difficult since then to lie about Tristan.

"Ignoring the Prince's _urges_," Page muttered, turning her head from him back onto Walter, "we still have to discuss how we're going to gain more of Bowerstone's people - or anyone - to support us in the revolution."

"I still say that, if we start shouting in the streets that we have a Hero on our side, people will be queuing up outside our doorway to join us," Ben jibed.

"Shut up, Ben," said Walter. "What we need, Page, is more contacts – there must be more people in Bowerstone who would support us, or would after being helped with something."

"The only thing I've heard is that some girl lost her cat, and somehow I doubt you'd want to help out with that," she said. "Isn't there anyone else who can lend their help?"

"There is always that mercenary camp near Mistpeak," suggested Darius. "I defeated their leader over a year ago, but never got around to asking for their help in the revolution. There is a possibility that I could persuade them to support us, if I help some of them out."

"Mercenaries – you think a camp full of mercenaries would help us?"

Walter shrugged. "They seemed honourable enough at the time; and they've kept their word. They haven't been raiding the Dwellers since we've been gone these long months."

"Fine, then you should go to them," she said.

"A camp full of mercenaries, eh," Ben chuckled. "You think I should come along to...you know, help?"

"No, Ben, I need you and Walter here in case anything happens," Page insisted. "Darius should be gone no more than a week long; it'll probably take him longer to get there then to sort out negotiations with their leader."

_That's what you think_, Darius thought cheekily. Only Walter and Jasper knew about the Sanctuary, everyone else was blissfully unaware.

"Well, you'd better be off then, lad, no sense in sticking round here," said Walter.

"Yeah, enjoy yourself with all the mercenaries, mate," laughed Ben.

Darius nodded, oddly grinning himself.

"We'll try to let you know if anything happens while you're gone, but you should be back by the week's up so try not to expect anything," informed Page, with a smile only now gracing her face.

Returning a polite smile, Darius made to leave the room and find a more deserted part of the Headquarters, where he would be able to Will himself to the Sanctuary without anyone noticing.

Finding an empty room beyond a door that required its wheel to be turned to open, and making sure that Rylin was standing beside him, Darius took one of the Seals around his neck, the one he had discovered in the tomb beneath Bowerstone Castle, from his neck and focused his Will on it.

He closed his closed as a mist of magic began to enclose around him, and, for the briefest of moments, he felt the ground beneath his feet disappear.

"Ah, young Prince," greeted Jasper; and Darius opened his eyes to see that he was reading the book again on the map. "Welcome back to the Sanctuary…is there perhaps anything in particular that you require?"

"I need to go to the mercenary camp, that one I infiltrated back in Mistpeak," he explained quickly.

"Ah, yes, I do recall that little task Sabine set you. Will you be wanting to wear the mercenary outfit once again, sir? As I believe, you've become quite attached to the boots," said Jasper, his nose wrinkling, as he looked down at the mercenary boots that Darius had since Mistpeak constantly worn with possibly every other outfit.

Darius stifled a retort on the tip of his tongue, since his scowling eyes followed Jasper's gaze to his feet. He never could understand why no one liked his boots, even if they were a bit filthy and in the mercenary style of fashion.

"Yes…I think I will need the outfit, at least so I can fit in with them," he muttered.

"Dyed in your usual dark green and grey style as well, sir?"

"Yes, dyed in those exact colours," said Darius.

After Willing himself through the map, he found that the mercenary camp had changed. It now held a new shooting range, an open bar, a few rental bungalows, a store, and had a new leader – who was called Lemmy.

Surprisingly, Lemmy had been the one to greet him on entering the camp. He said it improved staff relationships by hanging about outside, and Darius wasn't about to complain after being taken on an exclusive tour of the place. Rylin hadn't growled at any of the mercenaries either, so that had been a plus sign, showing that the mercenaries had indeed changed somewhat since he'd last been there.

"So…business here's good, then?"

"Certainly is, err…I'm sorry, we didn't catch your name before, with all that business with Saker," said Lemmy. "It was mighty good of you to let him go, you know. Thanks for doing that."

Darius shrugged. "So long as you guys don't attack the Dwellers, we're good," he responded, "…and my name's Darius, just by the by."

"Not _the_ Darius, son of the old Queen?" he asked, eyes widening.

"The very same, and, if you'll hear me out, I've come here to gain your help," said Darius. "I'm sure you've noticed how Logan has been taking a harsher line on the people lately."

Lemmy nodded. "Aye, me and the men have certainly seen Logan's harsh rule on the people…that is, Brightwall's people more than our own. But go on."

"There is a resistance of sorts that is looking to gain your assistance for an upcoming revolution. Would you be willing to join us?"

"Mayhaps we might," Lemmy muttered carefully, stroking his chin. "The guards have been stalking the land around here for some time now. They don't trust us now that we're – err – accepting the public into our camp. The guard-captain of Brightwall, see, he's planning on gathering a petition for Logan to shut our little get-a-away enterprise down…so, if you're looking for our help, we also want your help in this little problem."

"What do you want me to do?"

"For the moment, enjoy the sights, sounds – explore to your heart's desire, sir." Lemmy laughed. "Spend some time at our open bar, try your luck at our shooting range; and when you think you've seen it all, perhaps some time later today, come find me in the main hut. And we'll talk business again, then."

Darius nodded. He had wanted to try his hand at the shooting range, after all…

/***\

He was drunk, or half-drunk. Not completely sloshed, only half-sloshed.

Winning the Black Dragon pistol – their top prize – at the shooting range had resulted in a bunch of mercenary blokes wanting to know how Darius had achieved such good shooting skills, and that had lead to a trip to the open bar that was half-way around the corner.

Rylin had been by his side at all times, of course, and even he was being well treated. Some mercenary – Bernard, Darius believed his name was – had bought his dog some food from the bartender and had been feeding and stroking him for most of the afternoon.

Darius couldn't recall the last time he had gotten sloshed during the day. Nighttime certainly, but that was about a week ago. It was rare that he ever drank during the day.

"Well, boys, it's been great," said Darius, grinning, "but I'm afraid I've gotta run. Business with your boss and all."

"Ah, Lemmy, he's a good leader," said Jack the bartender, as he was wiping down the counter with a dirt-covered cloth. "We've got more money coming in now with all this stuff."

Darius called Rylin, who had been lying beside the bar, to his side and began walking towards the main hut down the hill, leaving the mercenaries to their drinking games. The main hut was the small building next to a graveyard, where a few mercenaries looked to be digging new holes for bodies.

Swaying slightly from all the drinking he'd done, he knocked on the door a few times and waited.

"It's open," came Lemmy's voice.

Darius turned the doorknob and entered the room.

"Evening, Darius. Have you taken a look around here, then?" he asked.

Lemmy was sitting on his bed and had apparently been cleaning his rifle, judging by how he placed a cloth and the gun on the bedside table beside his bed. Darius walked over to take the seat nearby the cabinet.

"This place is certainly…different from other towns and cities. No guards for one."

Lemmy smiled. "Ah, yes. But that's about to change, we think. The guards in Brightwall have been setting their eyes on us, thinking that they can change our little neighbourhood. I've had some of my men check it all out and they're wanting our King Logan to sign a petition, where the guards can either storm us and shut our businesses down or are allowed to have some of them posted here, and...well, no tourist is likely to come to a mercenary camp if guards are gonna be watching all their movements, eh?"

"Likely not, no," said Darius.

"Exactly…and I hear you've been helping my men out while you've been visiting here."

"Only helping some mercenary – err, Linton, I think, was his name – get a girlfriend. He fancied one of the whores here, so I just gave him a little pep-talk speech. After telling her he was a mercenary and had taken out a load of travelling men from last week, though, she was all over him."

Lemmy nodded. "Aye, and that was before you tried out the shooting range, I take it?"

"Yes. I believe I managed to beat the highest score."

"Aye, that you did," said Lemmy, passing him a small smirk, "and if I may say so, sire, it seems like you here bought yourself some new make-up from our store?"

"Ah, yes, the renegade make-up," said Darius, swaying a little as he nodded his head in affirmation. "It looked cool in the store, so I bought it and tried some of it on. I also got m'self a new tattoo – a heart on me chest – 'cause mercenary stuff looks better than others I've seen."

"Well, lad, the green renegade make-up suits you."

Darius nodded his head again. "Thanks."

"But down to business. I'll make my business proposition short, since I know you've been out drinking with the boys tonight."

"That's mighty good of you," said Darius.

Albeit his focus was swaying and his mind was verging on the edge of being rendered numb and sleepy, since the countless beer bottles now seemed to be taking their toll, he could still concentrate if he kept his focus on Lemmy's words, however long and droll they sounded to his ears.

"Me and the boys want free reign over our little paradise, see, and we're willing to bet Logan won't care enough about us to stop the guards," remarked Lemmy wearily. "Logan don't seem to care about anyone these days, so I what I want to know is, that if we join this revolution thing and you become King instead of your brother, will you grant us our freedom from those guards to handle our business? Can you promise me that?"

Darius blinked sleepily. "Will _you_ still keep your promise to not harass the local Dwellers?" he asked.

"Of course. Why, we've been getting enough business lately that some of the boys here have been too busy with tourists to leave camp. It all about advertising, you know," Lemmy informed, with a knowing grin. "Plus, have you seen those Dweller's pockets? Not much gold to be found there, lad, only holes and rags they have, and my boys are finding themselves better off now."

"All right, then...I promise you that once the revolution is over and I'm crowned King, your tourist business shall be your own. You have my word."

Darius held out his hand, and Lemmy shook it. Lemmy smiled gratefully.

"Well, I take it you'll be wanting a place to kip, eh? There's a rental building just up the hill that you can pay me in the morning for. Come on, I'll even walk you to it…you look like you'd be falling on your arse if I don't."

Lemmy walked Darius out the door, where Rylin had been resting on the porch. Darius felt the walk to the rental house was far too long, particularly as he was practically dragging his body up the hill, but, once on the rental's porch, Lemmy opened the door for him and the two adventurers wandered inside.

Rylin hopped onto the end of the bed, curling up and tucking his tail beneath his head. Darius turned and bid Lemmy goodnight before he made to remove his jacket, shirt, trousers, and his boots. He climbed into bed, which was by no means as soft as the one he owned at his pleasant house in Millfields, but nevertheless, having not slept a wink last night, since he'd spent most of it packing up his son's gear in the old house, and what with all the drinking he'd done today, he was now damned near exhausted.

Stroking his dog's head momentarily, wishing him goodnight, he then closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.


	3. A Series of Unexpected Events

**Warnings**: Please be aware that this fan-fiction will contain profanities, sexual content, many bloody battles, some character deaths (although no one that the Fable series hasn't already killed off!), and an overly obsessive usage of semi-colons and 'big' words.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Fable series. This piece of fiction is being written for merely entertainment purposes.

Rated: **M!**

A/N: This chapter is especially made because I was kind of annoyed with the creators for putting in Elise's character and then not going further with it – how did she escape the castle? – who were her family? – why didn't they put more effort in explaining to her after picking the option for her to marry Laszlo, or why doesn't she say anything after you choose not to say anything at all? – and finally, why do you then not see her again after this mission? (does their friendship dwindle away or were they just lovers?). The game is so vague!  
Anyway, guys, happy reading, and feel free to criticise my portrayal of Elise :)  
ps. Also, Reaver will be appearing once again shortly ;) I greatly enjoyed his character in the games, and for this fanfic have attempted to explore his character a little more.

_Summary: __A few days latter to having rescued Page's men from Reaver's Manor, Darius wakes to find himself and his faithful dog, Rylin, stuck in a cell. It seems like the past always manages to catch up with him. But when an unknown organisation from Bloodstone is bent on killing Heroes and the nobility, the revolution takes on an unexpected turn in its tale. Fable III: Reaver/Prince._  


**_A Light To Rival The Darkness_**

**Chapter Three: A Day of Unexpected Events**

After staying three days in a rental house at the mercenary's camp, Darius returned to spend a day with his son in Bowerstone. Despite having only resided there for a brief period, the new nanny, Alex, had spruced the place up pretty well and, with little Tristan seemingly settled and content, Darius was reluctant to move him to Millfields like he had previously planned.

Nevertheless, whilst Tristan was living in Bowerstone Industrial, in a house known as the Captain's Lodge, it was necessary to keep the house stocked with food; and as the nanny was feeding Tristan lunch and his dog, Rylin, was eating from a bowl on the floor, Darius thought he might do a bit of shopping for themselves for dinner later.

"You make sure to eat all that up now, Tris'," Darius counselled, as he stood in the doorway to leave. "I'll be back as soon as I can with dinner for tonight."

Tristan smiled goofily; there was food all around his mouth. "Byes, da'," he called.

"We'll be fine, don't worry," said Alex.

It did not take long for Darius to begin searching among the stalls in the city to buy food for dinner. However, as he was contemplating whether eating potatoes and meat for dinner would be worth carrying the heavy load of a sack of potatoes to the house, he heard shouting coming from around the corner, which was where the Orphanage was.

"I'm very sorry, but I'm afraid you'll just have to go somewhere else tonight," a man said.

"Somewhere else? And where would that be, exactly?" another man questioned loudly.

Darius turned around the corner, and watched as a man and a woman seemed to be raging at one of the local Shelter owners.

"Every other place has been closed down, and I'll freeze to death on the streets. And that's if Logan's goons don't smash my skull in first," the man continued.

"What – you think you're the only one who has problems, Aaron? Look, I'm sorry, I wish I could help but I'm afraid I can't."

Aaron brought a hand to rub against his forehead.

"Come on, Bella. We'll see if Ryan at the Inn can put us up for another night…doubt he will, but we'll see."

The Shelter owner sighed as they walked past Darius, heading to Bowerstone Industrial's nearest Inn, the Riveter's Rest (which was really more of a dingy pub in Darius' opinion).

"I hope you're not looking for somewhere to stay, too," commented the owner, "because this place is about to close down for good."

"My name's Laszlo, and I've no choice in leaving," said Laszlo. "I'm having to sell the building to pay a ransom to get my fiancée back. I tried to work up the courage to rescue her…damn that Ferret and his gang, they've got everyone living in fear, you know. Even me."

Darius nodded understandingly. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I dunno…you look like you can wield a sword, I'll give you that," he muttered thoughtfully.

"I can do more than just a wield weapons," scoffed Darius, "I can kill with them, too. And I've done that a hundred bloody times and over."

"Mayhaps you're just what I need, then – a good guardsman. If I had you with me, you could go in there and show 'em what fear really is."

"Your fiancée means that much to you, then?"

"Of course she does, there's never been another woman for me 'part from her. But between the two of us, we could rescue my fiancée, put Ferret out of business, and I could keep the shelter open. Please - if not for me, do it for the poor people who depend on the Shelter being kept open?"

Darius shrugged. "Yeah, I'll help you...but what's in it for me?"

"I don't have much, but I can give you three gold pieces. That enough?"

"Yeah, that's enough."

"Oh, thank you," cried Laszlo. "It's been agony being apart from her, wondering how Ferret and his gang have been treating her. Come on, we can go there now, if it's okay? They don't live far…"

Darius nodded, and followed Laszlo as they left the garden outside the Orphanage.

"They've been antagonizing the local homeless for weeks. I know where they are, they were expecting the ransom in a week's time, but I'll bring them something, all right - something rough."

Laszlo led him to one of the nearby run-down houses, which didn't look all that much different from the house that Darius had bought for Tristan before the men he'd hired had patched it up with paint and new tiles. Nevertheless, after Laszlo knocked on the door, a man's voice, one of Nigel Ferret's men, began talking through it.

"Laszlo, is it? You cost me quite a bit of gold, mate - I told Harry it'd take you the full week to get the money. You're an industrious one, ain't 'cha."

"Just open the bloody door, Keith. Let's have done with this."

"Hey, all right. The boss is downstairs – hey, hold up! Who's this, here?"

"In your parlance, he's the 'bagman'. And that gold doesn't leave his pockets until my fiancée's walked out of your fetid little den."

"All right, all right, mate. No need to get all testy," said Keith. "Just make sure you watch yourself down there," he said, eying Darius wearily, "…and no funny business. Mr Ferret ain't fond of funny business deals and the like."

"He'll get what he wants, Keith," growled Laszlo.

They walked over to the corner of the room, where Laszlo pointed out a trapdoor. He opened the hatch and they climbed down the ladder into a cellar, where Laszlo then began leading him along a corridor.

Darius wasn't too thrilled about these turn of events, but at least he was getting paid. _I'm spending way too much time in hideaways beneath buildings. Why do bad guys always have to hide things down trap-doors? Bloody, idiotic –_

"Ah, Laszlo, I knew that it was your most valiant voice that I heard."

A man, followed by others who Darius could only believe them to be part of his gang, stepped forth from the door and made to stand beside them.

"I cannot tell you how elated I am to have this unfortunate situation brought to a satisfying resolution," he said, his eyes trailing suspiciously between Laszlo and Darius. "Your associate can dispense with his burden by placing the funds upon the table."

"There's no gold, Ferret. Now you cough up my fiancée from whatever filthy corner you're holding her in, or my associate is going to start collecting heads. And piling them upon the table."

Darius' fingers lightly pressed against his sheathed pistol's handle.

"My initial judgement of your character was clearly misguided. It appears you do possess some heart after all." Ferret grinned, "Lads, tear it out."

Darius whipped out his Black Dragon pistol and shot the two men that were raising their guns at him. But he only just managed to shoot the man who came charging at him with a heavy-weight hammer in his hands. He fumbled the pistol back into its sheath and brought out his sword, slashing through the stomach of the next mercenary that had decided to take him on.

Soon enough, many a man in the room lie dead or near death.

"Now, now, Laszlo. Can we not discuss this like reasonable gentlemen?"

Darius looked over his shoulder, sheathing his sword as he did. Laszlo was holding a pistol, albeit a rusty-looking old one, and had backed Ferret into in a chair in the next room.

"Hand over my fiancée, Ferret."

"Why, I'd be all too pleased to, Laszlo. No hard feelings between us, of course."

Darius snorted and walked into the room.

"And your lovely fiancée is here with us, just not _here_ exactly. She's – err – down there."

He pointed towards the fence that blocked off the massive hole opposite them. Noting that Laszlo looked quite capable in keeping Ferret in the chair, he walked over to look down the hole. There was water and light at the bottom, Darius guessed by the ripples, but darkness largely covered the hole's walls and there was no way of knowing if there was anything dangerous sticking out of a wall.

"That shaft will serve as the only access to your adoring fiancée, Laszlo," said Ferret, sniffing in disdain. "It is true that my boys did lower her down earlier this week, but the cable snapped only yesterday; and the door over there that would have conventionally led one down –" (Darius' eyes glanced over to the door that Ferret was pointing at) "– has now become a one-way door. You see, I firmly instructed my boys to lock it from the other side once they set her down there, and now the only way to get her out would be to fix the contraption they escorted her down in."

"But that could take days!" shouted Laszlo.

"Well, my crafty entrepreneur, I did not expect to have you back so soon now, did I? I did not expect you to raise the funds, and quite predictably, you have not."

"Ferret, when I get my fiancée back, you'll be sorry –"

He chuckled darkly. "Ah, yes, more violence."

"Laszlo, don't worry," Darius said. "I can make it; I can leap down and get your fiancée."

Ferret's eyebrows rose, though whether in alarm or disbelief Darius was not certain.

"But the hole is ginormous – I made sure of it!"

"Well, I'm sure I can make it," Darius retorted, smirking at Ferret.

"You certainly do have a worthy knowledge in picking your companions, Laszlo. It's clear that your associate has gone stark-raving bonkers.," Ferret remarked, biting his lip. "...And that I truly did mischaracterize you."

"Yeah...well, I live in a bad neighbourhood. I wonder whose fault that is," said Laszlo irritably. "You're sure that you can make it, mate?"

"I'm sure," said Darius.

Looking down, it didn't seem that far to the water; and if he got hurt on the way, he had always healed quickly in the past (likely another tribute to being a Hero). Taking a deep breath, Darius jumped into the hole.

The water below hit him hard – head first – and he outstretched his arms and swam back up to the surface. Darius began kicking with his legs whilst he made to wipe away the water that soaked his eyelids.

"Darius!"

Blinking, Darius tried focusing on the woman who was bringing herself to stand on the dirt-quilted land that lay situated before him.

"Is that really you?" she asked tentatively.

It was Elise! Despite the haziness of his sight, he knew that he would recognise that voice anywhere.

With his clothes soaked and weighing him down, and his eyes stinging from the sewage water, Darius swam over to the land and pulled himself up to his feet. He wiped his eyes again; his vision had just about cleared, though his eyes were stinging a bit.

Elise was standing not a few feet from him – her face was almost exactly as he recalled it. She still had those gentle brown eyes, long brunette hair, which was now lying flat without the ribbon and yet still retained curls at the ends. She had a surprised expression on her face.

"Elise…" he whispered. His eyes widened, as he took in the fact that she was actually in front of him. "How – how did you ever escape?"

"Walter had me placed in a carriage and taken to Bowerstone," she said. "I haven't spoken to my parents since; I was scared Logan might try to get to you through my family or me, so I've stayed in Bowerstone ever since."

She wasn't donning a lady's clothing now: she was dressed in a dirt-covered white blouse, a brown jacket that held enough tears and queer-coloured smears to make sure it looked old, and a pair of long breeches and shoes that seemed as if they had been made more for a man's size.

"All this time? Two years, and you've been here – in Bowerstone."

"I know. It feels like almost yesterday that I was back home with my parents in Millfields," she murmured, smiling faintly.

He nodded. "Come on, we have to get out of here," he said, and held out his hand for her.

She took hold of it. They travelled through the cavern, and Darius prayed that the exit wasn't too far ahead, since Laszlo would still be worrying about her. He was nervous, anxious about what to expect from her after all this time, but completely happy that they had found each other again.

"Where's Rylin?" she asked.

Darius wished his dog was here now, if only to show her how many tricks he'd learned since leaving the castle.

"He's at my house – in Bowerstone," he replied.

Elise's eyebrows rose, clearly surprised. "You have a house in Bowerstone?" she asked.

"Err, yeah," he said, and felt a sizeable lump form in his throat. Darius coughed, "My son lives there, with a nanny I hired."

"_And_ you have a son now?"

"Yeah, he's called Tristan," he murmured awkwardly.

How was on Earth was he going to explain that, since leaving the castle two years ago, he'd been with numerous women – and men to boot, as well? He'd not only been married twice, but had often engaged in sexual affairs with people. Hell, only last week whilst staying at the mercenary camp had he gotten a heart tattooed on his chest and bought himself green renegade make-up, which he was even wearing now. The things he had done since leaving the castle, they would surely shock the Elise he once knew.

Darius stopped on top of a short hill, as they were approaching a small area of water that resembled that of a lake.

"Listen, Elise, there's something you –"

"Darius, look out!"

Bats! – hundreds of them were swooping down towards them, shrieking and wildly beating their wings. Darius did what had become instinct in the passing months; he held out his hand and brought a shocking circle of electricity around Elise and himself. Elise gasped as the bats fell around them, some with even twitching wings or fluttering eyes on the ground before Darius could be sure that they were dead.

He threw a fireball at the last one, which had flown in circles and escaped his blasts a few times now by inches. Darius sighed, and turned to face Elise.

"You…those stories about the old Queen, your mother?"

"That she was a Hero?" Darius stated, fancying that after that display any kind of remark other than a solid answer would not satisfy her. "Yes, it – err – looks like I'm one as well. After Logan had sentenced those poor people to die, Walter took me into my mother's crypt that night and...somehow, I just discovered my powers in there. I've been able to do magic since...

"All this, living in Bowerstone Industrial and helping others, it'll take nothing more than a full-scale revolution, Elise. So much has happened since I last saw you, and I've spent most of that time either looking after my kid or trying to gather supporters against Logan. It's been…hectic to say the least."

"Have many people joined the revolution?"

He shrugged, pausing to think. "The Dwellers from Mistpeak's Mountains, Brightwall's people, others from Millfields and Mourningwood, and recently, mercenaries from a camp in Mistpeak. We're trying to get some of Bowerstone's people on our side, though, and…well, it's a big city. Lots of people to help, but none who can really _help_ us, as in providing weaponry or ships."

"You've had a lot to deal with, then?"

"Yes, I suppose so," he reasoned quietly. "But we'd better keep walking…"

Elise watched as Darius took care of more bats and some Hobbs. It was strange to see him once again, but even she could not deny that her thoughts had often lingered back to that dreadful day, when the Prince was forced to choose between the protestors and her.

"It's so strange to see you here – of all places," she admitted, almost laughing at how absurd their situation now seemed as Darius once more finished off a bunch of smelly Hobbs. "I thought…I thought you were dead, but here you come tumbling back into my life again."

Darius turned his head away from a chest in the corner of the cave, his sombre-looking eyes catching her angry stare.

"I hated you, you know. I hated that you choose me over those people for a long time whilst I was trying to make a living here," she said.

"I almost did choose them," Darius murmured softly. He returned his gaze back to the chest and carefully opened it, grabbing the gold pieces that lay inside. "But I'm a selfish person. Those people…no matter how innocent they may have been or that they were good people, who just wanted better working or living conditions, I just couldn't let my childhood friend die."

He sighed, "…And when Logan started counting down as well, I could only think of how stupid those leaders must have been to encourage a protest right outside the castle rather than form a petition and send it by an errand boy. I thought of how much good you had done by visiting and helping people in Bowerstone, even if you only did it once a year, and I couldn't bring myself to let those leaders live while you died."

Elise was shaking her head when his eyes returned to her. "I think I understand now, or more at least, but you have to know that I still hate you for it. I can't...you can't save me again, like that day."

"This isn't like that. This time, no one gets hurt."

"Logan has to pay."

"I know, and he will," muttered Darius. "But it's going to take more than just one Hero."

She nodded, smiling. "I'll help you any way I can, Darius," she assured.

They walked on, and Darius noted how the paths were drawing them higher. _We have to be nearing the exit soon_, he thought; and sure enough, Darius soon spotted a door further up the cavern and led her towards it.

"Wait…" said Elise, pulling momentarily on his hand for him to stop. "There's something I have to ask before we go."

"Elise – your fiancée. He's probably worried sick with waiting," Darius mumbled.

Darius felt a sort of apprehensiveness rising at the back of his mind and in the pit of his stomach.

"I'm sorry, but I have to ask you – about your son," she said. "Have you…moved on since when we were together?"

"Tristan's mother passed on," he murmured, recalling Victoria's death as if it were but only yesterday. "But if you're asking if I loved her, then the answer is no. Since I left the castle, things have been…well, a bit complicated."

"When I first arrived in Bowerstone, I found a job as a barmaid in the Market district. And that's how I met Laszlo…I couldn't keep staying at the bar and I needed a house, but had no money saved up for one. He allowed me stay at the shelter one night, and I've paid him rent ever since for providing me a roof..." she stated, smiling as if recalling some happy memory.

"He started that shelter from nothing, you know, and he keeps it going despite Ferret and Reaver. Working with him felt...right after all those years spent visiting in the castle under my parents' orders, desiring me to find a wealthy husband. And then, with Laszlo, it became something more than just work. But…"

Her eyes took to staring at the cave's floor. "But Laszlo is only the second most amazing man I have ever met…you – you've always been the first."

He remained still, lips parted in silent surprise.

"I know it's been a long time, over two years. The days have gone past so fast," she mumbled. "But I have to know if there's even a chance, Darius. You've been my best friend since infancy, and my first love. Tell me, do you want to just sweep me up in your arms and kiss me and never let me go, or tell me to be happy and marry Laszlo?"

"Elise, I'm not – I don't…" he stumbled.

"I don't mind that you have a son now," she assured fondly. "I know from the way you speak of him that he means a great deal to you. It's just…I once loved you. And it's okay if you don't love me back now...I think - I just want you to know how much you meant to me when we became separated on that day."

He sighed, and stepped towards her, leading her eyes to return to his face.

"I _do_ love you, Elise, but only as a friend. I'm sorry, but you've always been like a sister to me," he admitted with a faint smile. "All those tricks we used to get up to, I admired you for that, and I think I did quite fancy you at one point. All the boys in Millfields did, as I'm sure you recall well enough."

She snorted. "Not after I started verbally assaulting them, they didn't," Elise growled, though with a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "I swear, that boy who thought I'd fall for him by asking me how much money it would take to buy my hand in marriage made me go off Midfield's blokes for the rest of my life."

Darius laughed, whole-heartedly and without pretence. He had forgotten the laughter that his childhood friend, who had known him so long, gave him.

"It's not only that," he added, sobering the conversation. "I think…recently, I've only been able to fancy my own sex – guys. I've _dallied_ about a bit since leaving the castle, and I'm about to start a war. It seems like you've got a good thing with Laszlo now and...well, I think we both know this just wasn't meant to be."

Darius thought it unwise to relay any further information, particularly about how he had not really fancied anyone since Victoria. Despite believing that he had not loved the wrench, after Victoria there had been few men – and even fewer women – that could entice him with as much excitement, danger, and trouble as she had managed. More often than not, Darius found himself desiring mercenaries now: men and women that carried guns, and he knew Elise was still nothing like the sort.

Though she seemed so changed in appearance and wiser from residing in Bowerstone for so long, Elise was helping people still, whether by being a barmaid or a co-owner to the shelter. She likely hadn't yet killed a soul or shed blood, while he had done that and so much more.

Elise was smiling, though. "All right…so, if we were to walk into a bar together, you would point out and back me up on all the best-looking guys in the room?"

He chuckled. "Would it shock you if I said I'd slept with the barman at Bowerstone Market's Inn? And several other blokes since coming here?"

"My, you have been a busy body. But all right, I can take a hint: that you're off women for the moment. Just make sure to tell me all the sordid details of your affairs," she said, grinning.

Darius smiled. "I'm grateful, and I'll make sure to tell you _some_ details. Also, if it's anything, I'm sure Tristan would be glad to meet you...that is, if you fancy meeting my son?" he asked thoughtfully.

"I'd love to meet him," she replied earnestly.

"Well," Darius said, "we'd best be getting you back to your fiancée. He'll still be there holding Ferret down, if I'm right."

"Oh Laszlo, he's probably been worried sick about me," Elise murmured.

They found Laszlo on the ground, his head bleeding. Elise immediately ran to his side and he awoke to her touch, and, though he appeared delirious and hardly capable of walking, they managed to get him to the shelter. Later, after Darius had insisted upon getting a Healer to inspect him, where they found that Laszlo had fortunately gotten himself only a minor head wound and a small concussion, Laszlo then proceeded to tell them how Ferret escaped.

It turned out that Ferret had employed more henchmen into his little gang then those Darius had originally taken out, and that they had stormed the room when Ferret hadn't reported any news to them within the following hour or so. Laszlo informed them that he had managed to take out a few, but hadn't been able to reload his gun quick enough to avoid Ferret taking a swing at his head from behind. He'd been both out-numbered and overpowered.

Darius could only wish him well, and promise Elise that he would visit them at the shelter later during the week to check further on them. He also promised that, once Laszlo was up again on his feet, she could visit his son.

The two parted with a mutual hug, and Darius knew that a friendship he had once thought lost could now be rekindled.

/***\

The walk back to his home was meant to be uneventful. All he had wanted was to pick up the sack of potatoes from the store, mayhaps even look at the toy horse on sale for Tristan, but latter to exiting through the general store, Darius stumbled into a woman who was pacing around in circles outside.

Fortunately, he only lost his footing for a few mere seconds and did not drop the sack.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the woman said, "I didn't see you there."

He scowled. "Why are you pacing outside, anyway?" Darius asked irritably. After all, it had been a hard-pressed day for the Hero, who had only wanted a measly sack of potatoes.

"I couldn't think inside, so I came outside to think," she said simply, and begun to pace again with her eyes set on the ground, as if the concrete floor held on the answers to her woes.

Darius raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "What was so important to think about that it dragged you outside?"

She looked up, her eyes frowning at him.

"Have you heard of Reaver?" she asked.

"Yes, I've heard of him," drawled Darius. "I've even met him, in fact."

Darius still could not fathom how Reaver had gotten himself involved with Walter and Ben in helping him to escape just the week ago from the underground passageways of the Market's bar. No matter that he had sought to bring him into Logan, it struck him odd that Reaver had taken to asking the local people about his disappearance.

"Well, wouldn't you agree that he's the most sexist man alive?" she said, smiling wildly. "Sexy, sexy Reaver…"

Darius cringed. Certainly, Reaver was a handsome man – that could not be denied. _His hair could be called sexy, I guess, with the way it looks so soft – and that curl in his fringe. _

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name," he said, attempting to divert her inane chattering about Reaver, which would hopefully in turn stop his mind wandering onto the man himself.

"My name's Benjamina," she replied casually, before continuing, "and I've been pondering on how to get Reaver's underwear from his mansion. Of course, I can't go myself, not since I received that restraining order for sneaking into his mansion the last time. So obviously I need someone else to do it for me…which is why I'm finding it hard getting a pair of his undies, you see."

"Isn't that a little _obsessive_?" Darius asked uneasily, shrugging the sack of potatoes to lie on his right hipbone, since his arms were losing strength.

"But it's Reaver! Haven't you seen those soft blue eyes, that roguish smirk, and those perfectly gentle-looking, but similarly rough, hands of his?" she said, sighing dreamily. "Oh, I'd give anything to have his unmentionables, you know…I wonder, though, do you think you could get them for me?"

"_What!_ Why would I even want –"

"I have a small fortune that I'd be willing to pay you for them," she said, her eyes pleading him. "You look capable of stealing them, and I know for a fact that Reaver spends more of his time here in Bowerstone Industrial than at that oh, so magnificent mansion of his in Millfields. Oh please, won't you do this for me?"

Darius groaned. "It's just his – err – unmentionables you want, right? Just one pair for a small fortune?"

"Well, I would like more than one really, but just one will do. I've a shrine in my room for that utterly gorgeous man, you know," she exclaimed, and happily flipped her hair back. "In fact, I'll pay you a hundred gold pieces for every pair you bring to me."

"A hundred…just for a single pair of Reaver's unmentionables?"

"Oh, all right, then – two hundred," she said.

Darius' eyebrows flew upwards so swiftly that, just for a moment, he thought they'd reached the top of his head.

"All right, sure," he agreed earnestly, extending his hand that wasn't holding the heavy sac of potatoes up. "I'll try and get them if I have time."

She grasped his hand and shook it enthusiastically.

_Why anyone would give two hundred pieces for a pair of his underwear is unbelievable,_ he reasoned thoughtfully. _I mean, not that he's handsome, as he is, but – well, he's an egotistical git about it. Even I'm not that vain!_

Benjamina released his hand.

"Whenever you've got them, just come by my house. I live in the Market district down Wall street, and my house is the one called The Shrine. If you're ever in the neighbourhood though, please come visit, and I'll make sure to show you all the wonderful things I've collected about that sexy, gorgeous man," she said, winking before stepping back. "Well, bye for now…and good luck in searching his mansion for a pair of his sexy undies."

Benjamina turned and walked away, likely intending to back to her house in Bowerstone's Market.

Darius shifted the sac of potatoes from his right hip on to his left, and sighed dramatically. _All I wanted was to get myself some dinner for tonight – just potatoes, carrots and meat. Mayhaps even a little chocolate for desert. Instead, I wind up rescuing Elise from a crime boss and now I'm chasing down a pair of Reaver's unmentionables. Bloody terrific!_


	4. A False Quest

**Warnings**: Please be aware that this fan-fiction will contain profanities, sexual content, many bloody battles, some character deaths (although no one that the Fables series hadn't already killed off!), and an overly obsessive usage of semi-colons and 'big' words.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Fable series. This piece of fiction is being written for merely entertainment purposes.

Rated: **M!**

A/N: The plot is thickening, and I'm really enjoying writing this! But I swear: the quest with James, and finding the missing ring (I've forgotten the quest's name), irritated me. I guess I just expected more from such a simple quest, since there was only hobbes and mercenaries in the sewers.  
Also, my apologies if this chapter doesn't give much away; there was a lot of information I wanted to address first, including how everyone discovers that Darius has a son! *gasp* Secondly, Reaver's significance in this story will become known in the next chapter, so have no fear, folks. And if anyone is wondering, my reason for selecting the Prince instead of the Princess for this tale is purely based on how the Princess is taller than everyone! in Fable. I'm sorry, it's really a lame excuse, but since realising this I've always played the Prince. And recently I've been playing Fable II as a male character anyway, since I'm a little obsessed with knowing how the dialogue changes.  
Anyway, reviews are welcome. I _like_ people spotting mistakes or commenting on the characters; it feels like people are actually reading (I'm not so confident as to say liking) this story.

_Summary:__ A few days after having rescued Page's men from Reaver's Manor, Darius wakes to find himself and his faithful dog, Rylin, stuck in a cell. It seems like the past always manages to catch up with him. But when an unknown organisation from Bloodstone is bent on killing Heroes and noblemen, the revolution takes on an unexpected turn in its tale. Fable III: Reaver/Prince._

**_A Light To Rival The Darkness_**

**Chapter Four: A False Quest**

Darius trudged through the sewers, putting forward one leg after another. The black boots he had nicked from that mercenary back in Brightwall, which now seemed a lifetime ago, were soaked with slime and covered by grime. More than a few profanities had left his lips since he had entered the sewers; he had started counting how many after a while, but had not bothered continuing after passing the hefty mark of thirty.

Rounding a corner, Darius and Rylin once again ran into yet another bunch of smelly hobbes, with a majority of them dressed seemingly in soldiers' uniforms (probably having stolen them). But then Darius also spotted a magician, with his top hat and coat, hiding behind his fellow soldier-like hobbes.

"This really isn't my fucking day," he moaned; and, swinging his left hand round to wield his sword along with his right, he charged at them.

Rylin followed suit, leaping at one of the many hobbes to bite and claw at his face.

Darius easily killed the first two he met, slicing the head off of one and then shoving the next to the ground, piercing his stomach with his sword. A hobbe made to shoot him as he stood with his sword buried deep in the dead hobbe, though, and he was forced to release his grip on the sword and back away, missing the rifle's bullets by inches.

Another hobbe – a skeleton formed by the magician! – got him whilst he was reaching for his pistol at his side. The bony hobbe sliced a long line down his left arm with his sword, and Darius was hurtled back to his senses through the sheer pain of the gaping wound.

He gasped; and brought his pistol up with his right hand to place a bullet in the hobbe's head, causing him to fly backwards. Rylin then immediately went to tear at his bony form. But there were more, coming at him from other sides, and he spun, firing purely on instinct. He climbed on to the pavement to his left, temporarily safe from the hobbes in the filthy sewage water.

He reloaded his gun and shot down three that were stupidly grabbing for his ankles rather than trying to wound him with their weapons. The magician was still standing on the other pavement across the sewage water, creating more skeletal hobbes and shooting bursts of fire occasionally at him and his dog.

Darius tried his luck and magically released four aerial swords into the air, and they pierced into the heads of several uniform-wearing hobbes. Blood was merging with the sickly green sewage water, colouring it a dark blackish tone.

The magician, save for one or two skeletal hobbes left, was now in as perfect a position as Darius was likely to get; and, ignoring the searing hot pain down his left arm, he used both hands to release a burst of wind to pick the magician up and spin him around (as if he were swirling in his very own hurricane, of a sort).

He shot a skeletal hobbe that had climbed the ridge and was moving too close for his liking, and reloaded his gun to shoot the magician.

But, as his gaze diverted on to his gun to reload it, a shot fired. He had killed all the hobbes with guns – someone else had fired that shot!

Darius' eyes flew upwards to see the magician flying from outside its hurricane and into the slimy sewage water, likely dead.

"We finally found him, it looks like," someone to his right voice.

Darius turned his gaze onto the mercenaries to – or who seemed like mercenaries, given their clothes – that were walking down the two sideline pavements towards him.

"Get 'im and his mutt, boys – and watch for that last hobbe, there!"

The skeletal hobbe went down instantly – shot twice in the head by one of the men. Gunshots streamed around Darius' body, one even managing to catch and pierce through his hip.

"Ah!" yelled Darius, stumbling back; and he would have lost his whole focus were it not for the mercenaries with their swords running at him.

Instinct and adrenaline took over. He felt his arm raise his pistol – and he was shooting and reloading, shooting and reloading, again and again, numerous times he did so. Darius began counting: one, two…ten mercenaries fell, and more followed. In such a confined space, the sounds rang and echoed through his ears, deafening him from the gasps and splashes of men as their bodies fell into the water or down onto the pavement.

His body was weakening, and he knew it. This adrenaline – this will to fight and survive – it could only last for so long. He was tiring quickly. Shot after shot he made; and wearily, he recalled how his sword lay still embodied in body of dead hobbe somewhere in the room. What clothing the hobbe had worn had slipped his mind.

"Come on, lads," called the familiar man's voice, "…only one Hero, we can take him!"

A few more appeared from around the corner to his right. A mercenary managed to even get close enough to take blood from his neck, but Darius had reloaded quick enough to shoot the bastard right between the eyes. His neck had begun to sting after, too, but at least he'd been swift enough.

Rylin had gotten shot at some point during the fight. His dog was limping, slowing down just like him. He was still fighting, still jumping at swordsmen and taking them down, but if there were any more riflemen Rylin looked like he didn't stand a chance at being quick enough to dodge a bullet. Rylin wasn't a Hero; he was just a dog, which meant he could die far easier than Darius.

The second to last man fell when he made the vital mistake in trying to make a run for it. Darius shot him in the back, and he flew into the wall with a cracking noise. _Likely his skull cracked or some bone or another_, reasoned Darius, indifferent to his darkening thoughts.

The leader had gotten a shot earlier in Darius' right arm, but perhaps fortunately, it had buried itself in the area somewhere above his elbow. Hot, searing pain flowed through his body; he'd even screamed once, Darius could recall, and was forced to drop to his knees to will the pain away, if but for only a moment.

But Darius was quicker, surer, than the leader was now. Darius' shots echoed in the sewers, and they all hit their mark, piercing the man's leg, stomach, and arms. None met his head or chest; Darius wanted him alive and breathing enough to speak.

His men lay dead around him – Darius had to step over some to reach the leader – and when he was beside the man's form on the ground, Darius placed his boot on the man's throat.

"Who are you?" he demanded, cursing at how his throat sounded wheezy. "Why…why are you here! Tell me…"

The man was spluttering for air; Darius didn't care, with his own lungs fighting for breath. He eased his boot up a little though, to get the man talking.

"Again, who are you and who do you work for? Answer me..."

"Go to hell, Hero!"

Darius spat at his face, seeing how both his saliva and blood hit a cheek.

"Wrong answer!" he growled. "And how did you find out I'm a Hero? Tell me – I won't ask again."

"You'll kill me anyway, Hero scum, just like ya did with those protestors two years ago. You're just like yah brother, Logan, ya are," cried the man, laughing, only to break out into a fit of coughing on Darius' boot.

Darius sniffed apathetically, and he noted a lingering metallic smell of blood, which his face was now likely smeared with.

"Whom do you work for?"

"Ask James…he's the one who set ya up," he hissed.

Darius roared in anger and shot the man beneath him. Blood splattered, staining his clothes and reaching even to splatter droplets across his face. Dead bodies were all around him; some were lying afloat in the water, some with body attachments half-hanging over the edge of the pavement, a few were leaning against the walls. That one he had shot earlier – the one that had flown into the wall headfirst – his blood had oozed out into a puddle that was steadily making its way to the sewer's waterway.

Leaning against the wall, panting for air, and gazing down at the leader's corpse of this pack of mercenaries, Darius could only wonder how James could have possibly known about him being a Hero. It was not a wildly known fact.

A glint of gold flushed by in the water, and Darius watched as Rylin limped through the water after it. Darius groaned and moved closer to the edge of the pavement. Rylin seized the gold object between his teeth and waddled over towards Darius, dropping it into his palm.

It was a ring, and likely the one that James had sent him down to find in the sewers.

"Thanks, boy," he murmured, brushing his fingers against his fur.

Rylin barked a reply, though it sounded pained and perhaps forced. Blood smeared across his fur, and that back leg of his would need to be checked and patched up before it became infected, particularly since they had spent so long in these rat-infested sewers.

Darius clutched the ring in his palm, and he reasoned that they had better pay a visit to James first before heading back to the Headquarters. He was on their way to the docks anyway.

"Come on," murmured Darius, motioning to Rylin as he collected his sword from the dead hobbe's body, "I've had just about enough of sewers and caves to last me a lifetime."

They met James where they had left him. He was beside the bridge, and Darius was anxious to get some answers.

"Oh, you're back – and you found it," said James upon seeing them approach, He smiled, albeit nervously. "Well...well done to you. You'll be wanting your reward, of course."

"Actually, I want some answers," growled Darius, clutching the ring tighter in his hand.

His arms, hips and legs were aching so much to the point that it felt like fire was burning him, but damned if he was going to let out of the very thing that James had sent him into the sewers for.

"I, I – what do you mean?"

"I want to know why the mercenaries I ran into down in the sewers mentioned your name as the person who had hired them. Can you tell me why they mentioned your name, and why you apparently want me dead?" he asked, stepping forward.

James was clearly intimidated. Hell, half the street was, given how Darius was chest-deep in slime and blood, and his dog similarly looked to have at least killed someone, given all the blood around (and probably still) in his mouth.

"It was a man, he made me do it!" shouted James, and cowering towards where the pavement ended and the river met. "He doesn't lead the organisation, but he's like a supervisor. I was asked by him – they have an underground place in Bowerstone, see – and he asked me to find and send you on quest so their hired mercenaries could kill you."

He was stooping in fear, practically crouching, but Darius took a step forward and crossed his arms.

"What organisation, and what could they possibly want with me?"

"You're a Hero," he mumbled. "They hate heroes, or the leader hates them. Most in the organisation just hates the nobility, but you're also a Prince. You're face is on every poster around here; it's not hard to miss if you're aware of your surroundings, see."

"Right. And your leader's ordered you all to kill me?"

"Yes," he said, nodding. "But me – I needed the money. I don't hate anyone. The part about my wanting to marry Sonya, that's true. The leader of this organisation is paying big to kill you. Not as big as Logan is, of course, but she's also got prices on other noble's heads too, including Logan himself."

Darius sighed, shaking his head. "All right, here's a new deal. How about you tell me the name of this organisation bent of killing Heroes and nobles, and any other information you know about this group, and I'll give you back your blasted golden ring."

"Yes, yes, I agree," he said, and stood up, more confident through the knowledge that Darius hadn't yet killed him. "Their name's 'Freedom for the Common Man and Woman', and their leader is somewhere in their main hideaway in Bloodstone. Never been there myself, but the guy who hired me told me about it. He – err – said their leader was a woman, I think."

"It's the Prince – look!" came a guard's voice from down the street.

"Ah, fuck! Here's your bloody ring," Darius shouted, tossing it to James, not bothering to see if the man caught it or not. He turned to his dog, "Come on, boy. Headquarters – it's likely the safest place for us now."

Darius ran for it, with Rylin bounding at his heels. His arm had healed a bit and he could feel only numbness now above his elbow, but his leg was aching something awful. Rylin, with his back leg having been likely shot, couldn't be faring much better either.

They stumbled through alleyways, attempting to avoid boxes and the like, climbed over fences, and almost bumped into people when making a run for it in the streets. Darius didn't need his brother knowing where he was; he wasn't about to be thrown in some dungeon any time soon, especially after that incident with Banal and his lover a few days ago.

The guard had gathered others, and Rylin just wasn't keeping up! His wounds weren't healing at all, so Darius was forced to pick him up and leg it.

A shot rang past his head, and Darius held his breath.

"The King wants him alive, you fool!" he heard one of them shout.

Darius dived into the alleyway behind Bowerstone Industrial's Inn, The Riveter's Rest, and moved to hide behind a stack of crates. Through a tiny gap between two labelled crates of wine, Darius watched as no more than four guards jogged past and ventured out from the alleyway.

"You okay, boy?" Darius whispered.

Rylin wasn't looking too good. He whimpered softly and laid his head upon Darius' shoulder, likely for comfort, but he could not express anything more.

Fortunately, the rebel's Headquarters was only a street away and then down the steps. Darius waited several passing moments before he attempted to move venture out of the alleyway; for he knew not the amount of time he spent crouching behind the crates in silence, and the guards could have been merely standing around outside.

But once he had made it successfully down the steps of the docks, without having sighted a guard nor heard someone shout out his name nearby, he made his way along the pavement for the door that led to the rebel's base.

_Safe…we're safe now_, Darius thought, as he carried Rylin through the chambers.

"Page! Walter!" he cried out. "Anyone here?"

He could feel Rylin heaving against his neck, his breathing becoming erratic. He knew near nothing of medicine or surgery; Jasper had instructed him on domestic subjects, and Walter on duelling and survival tactics, if he'd ever have need of them when alone and out in the wilderness, but no one had given him instructions on bandaging or helping the wounded.

"Come on, boy, stay with me," he murmured. "Anyone – please!"

He fell to his knees by the doorway in some unknown chamber. It stunk, and there were pipes that circled the room. He hadn't been paying attention when he'd been running.

"Oi, what you yelling about for?" someone asked.

Ben Finn and about six of Page's men walked in. The sight was a bliss considering the day he had been through, and Darius clutched at Rylin in his arms.

"It's the Prince," called one of them.

One rushed outside the room to yell, "We need some help in here – the Prince is wounded!"

Tears sprung to his eyes. They hurt, too, just like his hips, his left arm, his chest, and his legs. The had pain returned ten-fold now that he wasn't moving and without a quest, now that he knew they were safe, and it was hard to bear whilst he was kneeling.

Darius made to move from kneeling to sit on the grubby floor beneath him, but he barely managed to shift his legs before pain shot through him and he cried out.

"Darius!" shouted Ben.

He fell backwards, with his back stinging and his head banging against the hard stones of the floor. Ben was beside him in an instant, and straining his head over to look into Darius' eyes.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," Darius murmured softly.

He heard Ben chuckle, amused but clearly forced, and Darius closed his eyes. He shifted his legs forwards to bend as he lay there. He could feel Rylin's fur against his cheek; his dog was still lying somewhat against his chest.

"Don't go asleep now, mate, lest you want Walter to skin me alive," Ben muttered.

"Tristan," he whispered. "Make sure he's okay."

"Who's Tristan?"

Darius felt his chest rise in alarm, albeit only for a moment. His mind was slipping – he felt almost drunk, but on pain and a willingness to sleep. Tristan was fine, as he recalled; he was with the new nanny.

"Probably just an old friend, Ben," came Page's voice.

"Son…" he murmured, groaning in pain and frustration at having to explain about Tristan's existance. "He's my son, not a mate."

There was many a surprised gasp, although Darius was barely aware of it. A sense of numbness had overcome his mind, clearing any worries that had plagued him.

"You have a son?" Ben asked.

"Let's not worry about that now, Ben," he heard Walter speak. "The dog's leg's gone bad…we might not be able to save him unless we hurry. And the young Prince has lost enough here blood as it is."

"Right," acknowledged Ben.

Darius was drifting off. He could still hear their voices, but they were muffling. His heart was beating loudly and he could hear the shuffling of feet. Whether it was a conscious move or not, Darius concentrated more on the darkness behind his eyelids than on the voices speaking beyond them.

He even felt himself being lifted at one point, but his body ached so much to the point that he, save for groaning, paid no further attention to outside occurrences.

/~~~\

Darius was brought into consciousness by the sound of crunching. Every few seconds, there was another loud crunching noise. He opened his eyes, his eyelids flickering repeatedly, and was greeted by the sight of Ben Finn munching on a green apple.

"Well, the Prince finally rises from his slumber," said Ben, with his eyes settling on him, as Darius shifted from lying on the bed into a sitting position.

His body, although he felt oddly tired and had a slight stiffness in his back, he was at least content to know that his limbs were no longer in pain.

An alarming thought washed over him.

"Is Rylin okay?" he asked

"He's up, then?" came Walter's concerned voice, along with his entrance into the room. "You had us worried there for a minute, lad."

"I'm fine, Walter…now, at least," he murmured, turning his gaze onto him. "But Rylin – is he okay?"

"The mutt's about fine," said Ben, shrugging. "What I want to know is how you've managed to keep a kid hidden right under our noses."

Walter shook his head. "Rylin will be out of action for a few days. Page and I patched up his leg, taking the bullets out, and gave him a health potion or two. It's likely that leg of his won't be right for a couple of days, or that it'll ever be as good as before, and he had so much scars and blood on 'im that we had to shave off patches of his fur, but he'll recover…with time."

"It's my fault that happened to him," Darius mumbled, and shifting his knees up to his chest so he could rest his head on them. "If I hadn't needed the money for food and taken up that damned quest, or if I didn't take him on so many quests all the time, maybe he wouldn't have gotten hurt."

"That's a load of 'ifs' there, young Prince…best not to think about what could have happened, and concentrate on what's happening now. You both got out alive of wherever you bloody well went, so concentrate on that," advised Walter sternly, though he smiled encouragingly beneath that frazzled grey beard of his.

Walter was right, of course. Darius was thankful he was alive – even heroes could die, if given too many wounds to cope with. But that didn't make him stop worrying about his dog any less.

Ben nodded. "So, this son of yours…Tristan, isn't it?"

"You know?"

"You sort of mentioned it when we found you," he admitted, grinning. "It's sparked my interest since, wanting to know if he's so hideous that you'd keep him at bay from us."

"My son isn't hideous!" growled Darius.

"Ah, so there is a mystery son you're hiding from us," he jibed, and took a last bite from his apple before chucking it into the wooden bin that was lying near his bed.

Darius whacked his head against the wall in frustration. _It's a wonder Page manages to withstand his comments, I would've smacked round the head long ago._

"My son is with his nanny, or should be." Darius frowned, and he asked, "How long have I been out?"

"Only two days, and your mutt is still sleeping," said Ben. "He woke up about a couple of hours ago, in the middle of the night and whining, so we placed him in here. Look - he's over there, laying on the rug."

Only then did Darius take a more observant look of the room he was in, for he was certainly not in the war room of the Headquarters. His dog was lying asleep on a rug opposite his bed; in fact, as he was behind Ben's figure and on the ground, Darius doubted he would have noticed he was even there if he had not been pointed out.

Rylin was no longer drenched in blood, but had bandages wrapped around both of his front paws and his right back leg. The area around his stomach and jaw had also been shaved, and now spots of pinkish skin, which held both newly formed raw scars and claw marks, could be seen even from where Darius was laying. His dog – his beloved childhood and still loyal pet – was alive, but it was clear that his wounds had been grave.

Darius returned his gaze to Walter and laid his head upon his knees. _I did that to him._ It was a fact that Darius could not argue against, or rather refused to, for it was he that had led his ever faithful dog into danger and not the other way around.

"You can't blame yourself, lad," muttered Walter.

"I can," he replied stubbornly. "But I shouldn't be worrying about the past, as you said. Right now, I'd rather find out any info I can on the leader of this Bloodstone gang that tried to kill me."

"Bloodstone gang?"

Darius nodded, "I was trying to find a ring for a man called James in the sewers. But it was a trap, meant so that he could send his hired mercenaries after me. There's this organisation in Bloodstone bent on killing Heroes and nobles, and they've apparently got a little hideaway here, too."

"And your just about at the top of their hit-list because you're both a Hero and royalty, I take it, then?" Ben asked.

"That's about right, yes," Darius said.

"They don't know about our Headquarters, do they?" asked Page in an orderly tone, entering the room.

Darius shook his head, and watched as she moved to stand beside Walter at the end of his bed. He reasoned thoughtfully that she must have been standing outside the doorway to overhear his last remarks.

"No, I'm almost positive they don't know about this place," he said, attempting to recall the events and words expressed with some difficulty. "They only know about me. But one of the mercenaries, I think, knew that it was me who sentenced those protestors two years ago and not Elise – and I met her again yesterday, by the way."

"Ah, I knew the girl would do just fine here," said Walter.

Darius smiled. "She's engaged to a man called Laszlo, and they run a shelter together. She seemed happy enough."

Page snorted. "That's all well and good, you're old friend being engaged, but now you've a gang after you for sentencing Bowerstone's people to death!"

"Logan gave me no choice; he would have killed all of them had I not made a choice between the leaders of the protestors and Elise. I was given seconds to decide, and the leaders had put themselves and others in danger by openly protesting whilst she had done nothing. I made that choice two years, and I'd still make the same one now."

"The boy's right, Page, Logan gave him no choice," muttered Walter darkly. "Besides, the incident happened two years ago. What's more important now is that this organisation knows that the young Prince is a Hero, and that information isn't publicly known. The people know only that the old Queen was a Hero, not her son."

Darius nodded. "However they found out, they're planning on killing me and other people for it. James – the guy who sent me into the sewers – said the organisation was called 'Freedom for the Common Man and Woman'. They aren't just after Logan and I, they're after every nobleman around here."

"This is insane," raved Page, pressing a hand against her forehead. "They can't expect anything to change by killing every nobleman in Albion, it'll only cause anarchy…so they must be planning to take power themselves, hoping to kill you and any other threats in the process. We'll need to keep our ears and eyes open for news about this hideaway here in Bowerstone, in case they do plan on striking against you again."

"Likely they are planning to, yes," muttered Walter. "But you'd best be careful from now on, lad. Whatever they're planning, all this trouble you've been getting yourself into lately can only be drawing more attention to yourself."

Darius scoffed. "If only it were that easy, Walter. If only..."


	5. Rooftop Recruiting

**Warnings**: Please be aware that this fan-fiction will contain profanities, sexual content, many bloody battles, some character deaths (although no one that the Fables series hadn't already killed off!), and an overly obsessive usage of semi-colons and 'big' words.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Fable series. This piece of fiction is being written for merely entertainment purposes.

Rated: **M!**

A/N: I cannot express to you the reddening of my face as I wrote this overly long chapter (sorry about the length!), particularly when I attempted to write Darius' thoughts on Reaver's _unmentionables_. In any case, I'm excited that this story is finally progressing to the good bits, although I think I may or not be writing in too many fighting scenes. Honestly, I was admittedly crap and nowadays I can't seem to stop…oh, blast it, the Hero gets in enough fights in the game so I'm permitting this violent chapter.  
Also, be warned: Reaver's appearance will increase after this chapter to a disturbing extent. Ladies and chickens hold onto your canes, because the latter part of this chapter is possibly my most favourite and the most significant event in this whole idea of a fanfic. As always, happy reading :)  
ps. For my embarrassment and ignorance of male clothing, I looked up the meaning behind _tighty-whities_. They're basically briefs, only _tight-whity_ is an American term; the English refer to them as _Y-fronts_; and in Australia, they're referred to _jocks_ (not to be confused with jockstraps). If you desire a good old laugh about this, the term _Y-fronts_ is frequently mentioned in the old comedy series of _Are you Being Served?_ Please do not quote me on anything of these though, as I looked it up on Wikipedia; and, although I would love to learn about other cultures, I am only a simple Englishman, or rather Englishwoman…you get the idea.

_Summary:__ A few days latter to having rescued Page's men from Reaver's Manor, Darius wakes to find himself and his faithful dog, Rylin, stuck in a cell. It seems like the past always manages to catch up with him. But when an unknown organisation from Bloodstone is bent on killing Heroes and the nobility, the revolution takes on an unexpected turn in its tale. Fable III: Reaver/Prince._

**_A Light To Rival The Darkness_**

**Chapter Five: Rooftop Recruiting**

Days passed with no sign of Major Swift. Page and Walter seemed the most concerned out of all the men; whilst Ben was reluctant to believe that anything had occurred, arguing in the pretence that Swift might be lying low for a period. With no messages received, they should thus assume that 'no news meant good news', as Ben so boldly put to them.

However, much akin to Page and Walter, Darius was not so easily persuaded to disregard the weariness that Swift's silence had arisen in the rebel's Headquarters. Of course, Page's men had made enquiries, but no one, no guard nor worker, seemed to any retain knowledge of his whereabouts; and, though Walter had made presumptions about Logan sending the Major on yet another mission, nothing could be made certain.

Thus, as instructed to keep low by only instigating into only a few quests here and there (one was so pointless that all he was required to do was free some chickens from a factory), Darius was able to visit his son more often.

But, in particular, Darius remained reluctant to venture into Reaver's mansion in search of a pair of his unmentionables, of all things. Thoughts of prying through Reaver's belongings in search of a pair of his undies, let alone entering his mansion again after rescuing Page's men, disturbed him, in both an arousing and alarming manner.

One thought had more oft than others breached his mind: _what kind of unmentionables does Reaver wear?_ This precarious, vague idea had led him to ponder on a number of possibilities: _boxer briefs, tighty-whities, or jockstraps? Does the man even own underwear? And if so, fashioned in what colours? _Such disturbing ideas, coupled with the threat that this eccentric organisation proved to his person, had possessed his mind since the afternoon he and Rylin had been so grievously wounded.

It was why he had invited Elise to his house at the first opportune moment, for her fiancée had recovered well enough, and now both his son and his old friend could distract Darius.

"He's such an adorable boy," Elise complimented, smiling briefly at Darius before returning her gaze onto him, "…aren't you, Tristan?"

Tristan was currently delighting her by showing off his teddy, Mr. Tubbs, which Darius had purchased for him no more than a week ago. Rylin was lying on a nest of cushions beside the stove, as the nanny was focused on attending to their lunchtime meals.

His faithful dog had recovered much since that day, but that leg of his was not yet fully in good health. The bullet wound remained covered by bandages, which Darius was required to change every few hours, as per the hired Healer's instructions (for there was no such doctors for animals). Thus, Rylin now stayed most days with his son or at the Sanctuary with Jasper, whilst Darius retreated to his home in Millfields to deal with the repairing of nearby houses.

"It's only because you're here that he's remaining in one place," jibed Darius, grinning. "No doubt, when you leave, he'll start crawling all over the place to find something interesting."

"Well, he hasn't gotten up to too much mischief yet, so he must have a good enough father, eh," remarked Elise.

Darius tossed her a smile. Perhaps he was _good enough_ for his son, but there was always that pressing thought at the back of his mind of how vulnerable Tristan actually was, because if he died then his son wouldn't have any parents at all. Darius' mother, the Old Queen, had passed away soon after he'd turned three years of age, and he had never known his father.

According to Walter, he had been a drunken lout of a man. Logan had taken more than a few beatings during his childhood as a result of his alcoholism, and that it was generally considered a blessing for the good old Queen when he had passed on because of it.

Tristan settled his teddy down beside him and then reached forward to grab his toes, causing his little body to rock forwards and backwards in motion. He even began giggling with glee.

"Eli'," he yelped, attempting another go at Elise's name.

"Good boy," said Elise, smiling and looking quite elated. She turned her gaze once more to Darius, "Not bad for a boy only a year old."

"He takes after me," he laughed.

"Well, let us hope that he doesn't start wearing make-up too," she commented, referring to the renegade make-up that he had taken to wearing since purchasing it during his visit to the mercenary camp. "I noticed it when you rescued me from Ferret's clutches. You never used to wear make-up…is there any particular reason you do now?"

Darius shrugged indifferently. "It looks nice, and a renegade look seems to scare people. Not that it ever scares away mercenaries and hobbes of course, nothing seems to scare them, but it does keep the men and women at bay whenever I'm in a pub or Inn."

Whilst that last fact certainly bore some truth, with industry workers, shoppers and bar-goers keeping their distance, Darius was also certain that the renegade make-up changed his facial appearance from that of the princely look that all the posters in the country adorned of him. Dressed in mercenary boots and breeches, along with the make-up, only his hair and the comfortable princely shirt he had worn since leaving the castle could lead the guards to believe that he was their rebellious Prince.

"Surely you don't wear it all the time, though?" she continued.

"We saw lots of noblemen wearing make-up whilst at the castle. Why do you protest against me wearing it?"

"I don't, it suits you…you just never seemed to want to wear it back when you were living at the castle."

He sighed. "I didn't think I'd have a son or be gathering allies for a rebellion against Logan back then either, but things change."

Elise seemed to accept his answer, though she teased him about it frequently from then on.

Lunch progressed without much hassle. Tristan accidentally stained the floor with water by spilling his little cup, but Alex dried that up with relative ease, whilst Elise, with reddening cheeks, requested the use of the chamber pot upstairs, having consumed a glass or two of wine too many.

But it was as Darius was reading to Tristan that gunfire was distinctly heard outside. Darius rose quickly to his feet, his fingers hovering over his sheathed pistol. Elise's eyes widened as she remained seated, and she seized Tristan from his rug and brought him to her chest; and not a moment too soon, for bullets streamed through the wooden front door and the glass in the windows was sent flying about the room.

"HERE!" Darius yelled to Elise, throwing her his pistol. She stood and grabbed it with a free hand, "…and take him upstairs, Elise!"

She ran with Tristan up the stairs, the boy clinging to her chest and starting to wail.

The door was shattered from its hinges and brought to the ground as black-clothed men and women barged through, bearing weapons and masked faces. Darius drew his sword from the belt looped around his back and kicked one of the black-clothed women from the doorway, slicing her throat effortlessly before moving to block the attack of a masked man.

Alex, albeit a man who was soon reaching one and fifty years' old, had picked himself up a cleaver and was fighting beside him, looping off their heads. Glancing momentarily behind him, he spotted that Rylin had seized a man by the ankle and was gnashing his teeth into his leg.

Darius growled; he was duelling with a man twice his size and with more broadened muscles then he, and only his swiftness and inflamed rage was keeping the scales level. He blocked a second attack from a woman who was attempting to gut open his stomach, kicking her back and slicing her throat, only to then dive through the giant man's legs to avoid the swing of his greatsword, which would have certainly made a killing mark if having struck his back.

Kneeling, Darius turned his form to pierce his sword through the man's back. The masked man gasped and keeled over onto his hands and feet. Darius stood and turned fully, making to twist his sword before he even contemplated on bringing it out.

Gunshots fired above him and the sound of glass shattering again drummed through his ears, and his thoughts came to an abrupt realisation, as Elise screamed alongside Tristan's wailing.

Spinning on the spot, he shouted to Alex and Rylin, "They've gotten through the windows upstairs, help them!"

"But sir -!" cried Alex.

"I can handle 'em – go!"

There were only two men left standing: one who was clearly an amateur with a gun, but the other held a hammer. Albeit the hammer-man's thighs and stomach seemed were bleeding profoundly through the ripped pieces of cloth about those areas on his body, the giant hammer in his hands certainly seemed threatening enough.

Snorting as the gunman brought up his rifle, Darius charged to thrust his blade into his gut. The man let out a wheezing breath, eyes widening, and he grasped at the hilt of the blade, until Darius pulled it from his stomach and fell to the ground, crying in pain.

The screaming and shouting hadn't stopped upstairs; they were nowhere near out of the thick yet. The masked hammer-man's lips, for only his forehead and eyes were covered, sneered at him from across the room.

"You won't get me that easily, Hero scum," he growled. "The boss wants you, your kid, and that other one dead."

Darius scowled. "What other one!"

"ALEX!"

Darius broke eye contact with the black-clothed man and stumbled with all haste over to the staircase, practically skirting up the staircase. The hammer-man was following him, perhaps only three steps behind.

Alex was lying on the floor, with a clear bullet wound driven through his ragged grey shirt. There were two men standing beside the window; one had his hand on Elise's wrists, looking as if he had attempted to drag her out through the window.

"Darius!" she cried out, tears streaming down her eyes. "Please…"

Will poured through his mind like it was second nature. Instinctively, Darius threw them against the wall. He felt the hammer-man near him, the hairs on the back of his neck tensing, and he threw him over the staircase; the man yelled in anger before hitting the floor headfirst.

Electricity poured from his hands in static jolts. Fury consumed his mind. Will was coursing through his body; the blue veins in his arms lighting up. Rylin was limping over to Elise and Tristan, standing between them and two masked men.

Darius saw red as one man attempted to raise himself to his feet, and shot a streaming line of voltage towards him. The man keeled over.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "Where is your base in Bowerstone?"

"Let me live and I'll tell ya," the last man rasped, clutching at his heart.

Darius snorted. "You're not exactly in a position to be making deals, so start talking."

The man conceded then with a nod. "Some bloke hired us through the assassins' guild, and took us to his base ta make sure we knew all the details, since we were asked to take you and your brat out."

"Where's this Bowerstone base?"

"The base is in a cellar beneath an old factory down Wise street. I swear though, I don't know nothing 'bout their hideaway in Bloodstone," he relayed, his breath steadying. "The contract was supposed to be easy, take out three Heroes and get paid for each one."

"What third Hero?" he demanded. "I can understand how your boss might figure my son is one, but there's no third Hero. I'm the only one left!"

"That's what you think, Hero scum!"

The man leapt to his feet and dashed toward the nearest window. Elise took a clumsy shot with his pistol, catching his leg; and Darius made to draw his rifle, but the man had jumped through the window by the time he held it in his hands. Darius ran to the window and attempted to take aim, but the man had lost himself in the afternoon crowds.

He sighed, and lowered his weapon.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it," he muttered darkly, latching the rifle back into his belt. "Fucking damn it all."

"Are you all right?" asked Elise, placing down his pistol beside her feet.

"I'm fine," Darius replied. He sighed, "I shouldn't be swearing in front of my son…"

He walked over to her and took Tristan from her arms. He was still whimpering and crying, but had ultimately stopped his wailing and screaming.

"They'll be more back, won't there?" asked Elise, as she shifted her knees up to her chest to wrap her now free arms around them.

He nodded. "Likely they'll be, yes…which is why I'll have to move Tristan again. And here I thought he'd be safe living in Bowerstone Industrial, mostly 'cause no one would suspect him living amongst all this smog and dirt. More the fool I was, eh?"

Alex's corpse lay strewn across the middle of the floor, the blood from his stomach wound already staining the floorboards.

"You're not responsible for his death, Darius," he heard Elise murmur.

"Mayhap not his, but others certainly," he muttered, recalling how his two deceased wives met their fates by his own hand. "At any rate, could you help me pack? We need to leave, as soon as possible preferably."

"Where will you take him?"

At least she understood the necessity of the situation.

"I think I know just the place," he murmured thoughtfully. "Come on, it's time I took you to see the rebel's Headquarters…"

/~~~\

"Darius, we can't keep him here! The Headquarters isn't a safe location as it is," Page scolded him. "And what's with bringing her here as well? This isn't some homeless shelter."

"Actually, I run a shelter for the homeless, thank you," Elise spat. "And I'll not be staying here for long. I'm only here to help look after Tristan and to see Walter."

"Well, isn't that just sweet?" Page retorted, glaring at them. They had barely entered through the rebel's doorway and already she was pitching a fight with them. "How do you even know she's trustworthy, Darius? She could be working for Logan for all we know."

"She was one of my good friends at the castle, I trust her," Darius insisted.

"A fat lot of good your word is in trusting her," she scoffed.

Elise snorted. "Apparently, Bowerstone infamous rebels aren't known for their hospitality."

Page stuck out a finger, pointing it directly at her. "You – you can stuff your hospitality right up –"

"Walter!" cried Darius, raising an arm to greet him, as the old soldier came walking around the corner. "Thank god you're here. Please, explain to Page that Elise is trustworthy and can keep this place a secret."

With his bushy grey eyebrows raised, Walter observed Elise's form with surprise.

"Why, by the devil's balls, it is her," he laughed, making his way to crush her into a warm embrace. "And I'd here thought you'd have legged it back to Millfields by now."

"Almost did, but what with Logan tracking my parents' movements, I thought it best to stay here," Elise said, smiling as he stepped back from her to stay beside Page. "Also, I hear long-distance relationships are a drag, or so my fiancée tells me," she added, lifting her left hand to show off a reputably seized engagement ring resting on her finger.

"Not Darius, surely," questioned Walter, his eyes glancing between them as if looking for confirmation.

"No, definitely not!" she said, as Darius was similarly shaking his head. "My fiancée's name is Laszlo, he owns a shelter for the homeless here in Bowerstone. Darius and I only reunited last week; he rescued me from a group of thugs that have since been plaguing this city."

"Hmmm…yes, but while this little reunion is all well and good, may I remind you all that this is not Bowerstone Orphanage," said Page, turning to Walter. "What I am to do with a child if Logan's men attack here?"

Walter's eyes rested on the brunette-haired boy sleeping in Darius' arms, wearing naught but a shirt and a pair of shorts that seemed bigger for wear than on a year-old baby. He had almost a full-head of brunette hair now, like his father, and his light skin colour was marred not even by a single freckle yet.

"This here is your boy Tristan, I take it?"

"Yeah, he's mine," whispered Darius, noting the possessiveness in his own voice, "and all I'm asking is for someone to look after him for a few hours today whilst I bloody hunt down the men responsible for hiring assassins to invade my home this morning."

Page let out a loud groan. "It's not practical," she moaned.

"Assassins?" asked Walter. "Did you say assassins invaded your home?"

"It was that organisation again, the one that's calling themselves 'Freedom for the Common Man'," muttered Page, bringing a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Darius here had just explained it all before you turned up, actually. We now have an idea of where their base is in Bowerstone….apparently, it's beneath an old factory down Wise street, and there's only one I know of down that street so it should be relatively easy finding them."

"It's certain they know about me being a Hero," Darius continued, "but now they've found out about my son. I don't know how, but they must have concluded that he must be a Hero just like me, or is just too much of a risk to leave alive. If Elise and I hadn't have been home, Tristan would've been taken or worse, hurt. Even the nanny I hired, he didn't survive the attack whilst I was there, and I can't risk getting another one now, not with them knowing now that I have a son. I thought he'd be safe in Bowerstone Industrial, but apparently –"

"You're son was living in the Industrial district all this time?" he heard Ben Finn call.

Darius, with his vision obscured by Page and Walter's forms, stepped to his right just enough to spot Ben Finn walking round the corner, dressed in his army uniform as usual.

"This is your little tyke, then?" He laughed. "And here you'd had me thinking he'd look like some devilish spawn."

"Weren't you supposed to be cleaning the rifles," growled Page, crossing her arms.

"Don't fret, it'll get done," he smirked. "And hey, if you want, I'll even clean _your_ rifle."

Page groaned and shook her head.

"Shut up, Ben," said Walter, shaking his head. "Look, lad, if you're heading to take down the base now, I'll come with you. I'm sure Elise here, if it's not too much trouble, can look after your young'en for a couple of hours, eh?"

"Of course it's not too much trouble," said Elise, smiling. No doubt, she was also still curious about the infamous underground rebel's base. "Besides, I told Laszlo I wouldn't be back until late anyway, and Tristan really isn't that difficult to love."

"And I'll help out whenever you want," said Ben, grinning from ear to ear, and saluted playfully to Tristan in Darius' arms. "After all, it's my duty as a soldier to look after a Prince's heirs, eh Walter?"

Page scoffed. "You can barely look after your own the rifle, let alone a baby," she mocked, albeit playfully by whacking him in the arm.

Ben rolled his eyes. "I would if someone gave me an incentive," he said, smirking in her direction.

"Hey, no flirting in front of my kid, Ben," jibed Darius, as he handed him carefully over to Elise. "Thanks for helping," he muttered.

"It's no problem," she replied, smiling.

Page sighed. "So long as the little one is kept out of harm's way and doesn't get into too much trouble, I honestly don't mind him being here," she said, looking at Tristan with something that Darius would have said was akin to an almost wishful gaze. "Just make sure that _you_ and Walter don't go getting into too much trouble, okay," she added, motioning to them with a brief wave before turning to walk back into the main areas of the Headquarters.

Ben and Elise equally expressed their farewells before then retreating back into the Headquarters, chatting to one another with content looks. _Tristan will be all right with them_, Darius thought assuredly.

"Well, we'd best be off then, young Prince," said Walter. "The sooner this business is over, the happier I'll be."

/~~~\

As Darius and Walter plodded along the streets of Bowerstone Industrial, he caught sight of Reaver talking with two men two who seemed as if they were noblemen, if Darius were to judge by their expensive, colourful clothing and overly twirled moustaches alone.

They were standing on the balcony of a factory's top floor at the end of the street. His focus had been so set on reaching this old factory down Wise street that he had avoided the need to look about his surroundings, for how else could have missed Reaver's brazenly white coat, boisterous top hat, and cane until now?

Walter sniffed in disdain; he had followed Darius' gaze and caught sight of Reaver.

"You got a plan for when we enter the base, lad?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's called kill everyone in sight until I find their boss," he murmured.

Walter clearly disapproved, though whether about the extremity or carelessness of the plan Darius knew not. But it wasn't as if Darius had a better plan, or that they even had time to make a proper plan; the fact that his son could have been so easily killed proved how knowledgeable and dangerous this organisation was. Darius couldn't win this revolution and restore back the peace without getting rid of the people who wanted him dead first. He would not be stabbed in the back, particularly by a group of extremists such as this organisation.

But, when seeing how Reaver was dazzling the noblemen up there, he could only wonder where this man stood in all of this. The industrious tycoon surely had enough funds to support any side, and he could be supporting Logan, providing men and money for weaponry, for he had taken his brother's side twice now.

Breaking his train of thought, Walter said, "Come on...Wise street's down this way, I think. On the verge of entering the Old Quarter."

As Walter motioned around a corner, Darius caught sight of no less than three assassins on a building's rooftop along the street, moving towards them. He stopped and watched; the assassins didn't seem to have noticed him.

"Lad, what's up?" Walter asked.

"Assassins, on the rooftops," he murmured.

There was no doubt that they were moving towards Reaver and the noblemen, for Darius watched as one pulled a rifle from his back and took aim. Darius gnashed his teeth together, his hands tightening into fists. _God damn it, why hasn't Reaver started killing them yet?_

The assassin fired his gun three times, taking different aiming points for each man standing there; Darius whipped out his pistol - the Black Dragon - and equally fired thrice times, and reloaded it just in case they fired again.

If Reaver hadn't noticed after the first lot of gunpowder went off, he had after Darius' shots. The man's form moved so quickly, so gracefully, with his reflexies superb; his cane was instinctively brought up to his chest level, similar to when he had blocked Page's gunfire in the ballroom only a few weeks ago, and his hand practically flowed into his unbuttoned coat, pushing the side away as he grabbed his pistol and took aim.

But Darius' bullets had collided with the assassin's in mid-air, quite a few feet from Reaver's position, and caused them to drift from to their intended course. Reaver's intense gaze redirected itself upon Darius, with an amused yet curious expression playing on his face beneath his hat, and Darius stared back with his insides practically churning with conflicting emotions, although lust, shock, and curiousity were notably the most predominant ones he was experiencing in that singular moment.

"It's the Prince!" shouted a masked assassin from the rooftops, bringing his mind surging back onto their present situation. "Looks like them other boys failed this morning, eh?"

"It don't matter! What's one more with Reaver and these noble gents, eh? More's the reward for us," shouted a second assassin, pleased and clearly laughing. "Let's get 'em!"

Darius growled loudly and, with his only thought set on gaining entry to the rooftops, ran for the inside of Reaver's factory. _Let these guys just try to kill me, I'll tear them apart just like I did with the others this morning._

"You sure you don't go looking for trouble, lad?" called Walter behind him

"Trouble just finds me, Walter," he said, half-laughing as he sprinted.

Many a worker inside the building yelped at the sight of him, half-wild and bearing his pistol, or instantly jerked out of his way. _They must think my attitude as deadly as Reaver's_.

As he ran up the stairs, skipping two at a time, he passed by the noblemen who were, in turn, murmuring stupidly to each other about not wanting to die as they raced down the stairs. Whereas Walter waned in his running, Darius sprinted towards the balcony, and he caught sight of Reaver leaning against the wall outside.

"I am afraid there is no time for pleasantries, my Prince," said Reaver, clearly amused. He winked; the black heart that was carved upon his cheek crinkled ever so slightly.

Reaver turned and stepped back, aiming with his pistol to shoot an assassin that was standing on the tiles above them. He had left his cane and top hat beside the doorway, and his coat was bellowing about his striking form with his swift movements.

"Well don't thank me for saving your _pleasant_ arse earlier, then," Darius retorted.

Ignoring Reaver's raised eyebrow at him, Darius climbed up to stand upon the railings and leaped onto the rooftop's tiles. He stood up and shot a man who was getting too close for comfort.

"Should come up here, the view is far better," he called, shooting an assassin in the foot.

That was a playful lie; the view likely would have been a spectacular one had he time to look, for bullets rang past him, defeaninig his hearing, and his concentration was solely on keeping his weight majorly leaning on his right side on one side, lest he start leaning left and fall off the roof.

There were about ten assassins now; for the moment, six of them weren't a danger - two were cowering behind chimney posts, one was having difficulty keeping his balance on the roof, and three were moving across buildings as much as four houses down to be of any concern - but four were coming at him now with swords! He shot three of them – in the head, chest, and likely elsewhere – before coming to blows, sword against sword, with one.

"Watch it, lad!" called Walter alarmingly; Darius could not see him now on the balcony, but by his tone he sounded weary. "Don't do anything stupid up there. An old soldier like me is too old to be climbing rooftops."

"It's all right, Walter," shouted Darius, making to avoid both a speeding bullet and the masked assassin's sword by rolling between his legs. He chuckled and stood up, ginning, and said, "These guys are all bark and no bite."

The man turned and sneered beneath his masked eyes, and brought his sword to take a swipe at Darius' throat, placing near all his force and fury behind it. Darius nearly faltered in parrying it, and they soon became stalemate, their swords locked between them.

Darius groaned loudly, and almost – almost – regretted having insulted the men.

"I can not stand it a moment more! The sounds of an orgy occurring on my own factory rooftop, and no one thought to invite _moi_," Reaver called, sounding half-insulted; and Darius, rather than remind him that these were technically _his_ assassins, glanced behind him to see that Reaver was climbing up, with a heeled boot already stepping up and wielding his cane once more, to join him.

The masked man took this pause to throw him off, but Darius managed to regain his footing with relative ease. Finally, his lessons about footing when duelling with Walter in his youth were paying off.

He threw his weight behind his sword, making to take a swipe at the man's neck, only to enter into another game of stalemate. The man was smirking again at having blocked him off.

"Never been on top of one of your rooftops before, Reaver?" he called, before growling and kicking the man's shin, thereby breaking their stalemate as he stumbled back. Darius moved to thrust his sword in the man's stomach.

"Why, I daren't say that I have yet experienced that particular pleasure," came Reaver's reply, as he shot down a charging man. The man went flying backwards, cracking the tiles and rolling right off the edge of the roof. Reaver laughed, his hair whipping in the wind, and, when his eyes settled on returning to gaze at Darius, added in a most sensual tone, "Although, it does _strike_ me of interest now, I must say...perhaps you would care to show me about sometime, my beloved Prince?"

"Well, like I said before, it is a _good_ view...so mayhaps I might just take you up on that," said Darius, eying the man's startlingly black wind-swept hair with a momentary desire to grip it in his hands and make the infamous Reaver beg for more.

"Indeed, it truly is the most _ravenous_ sight, my Prince," replied Reaver, with his intense gaze on Darius' form causing him all the more shivers. There was certainly no mistaking the sordidness in his voice now, and Darius cursed himself for having encouraged it.

"Reaver – you keep your devil hands to yourself, ya hear!" Walter shouted; but in all honesty, Darius had forgotten that his old companion was still on the balcony. Walter groaned loudly, "Balls…all right, I'm coming up, lad."

He shook his head, chuckling, and stepped forward to eye the last assassins standing.

The five that remained came all at once, their sneers exposing their malicious fury. Darius grabbed his pistol again and cocked it, shooting one in the head; but an assassin bearing daggers for arms came at him all too quickly, and Darius caught up in yet another fight.

Reaver managed to shoot down two, but his cane was brought into battle when a man tried taking a hammer at the industrialist's head. Darius spotted Walter, with his footing hard-pressed to keep steady, taking on another assassin.

Pitied against a man far swifter than he, and with only a sword against two agile blades, Darius struggled to keep up. Sweat covered his forehead and neck, his brunette fringe was sticking to his brow, and his muscles ached to the extent that he was now groaning more oft than not.

Darius elbowed the man in the chest, causing him to stumble back, and whipped his hair back with a throw of his head, groaning thankfully; but, with the man climbing the tiles back up, he was left parrying the daggers once again.

A man roared from beside him, growled so loudly that his voice was near animalistic – and it was neither Reaver nor Walter, much to Darius' concern.

Groaning once more, Darius dodged a blade aiming for his neck and kicked the man in his stomach, thwarting him with the unexpected movement; and he then looped his head off, observing how the two limbs went tumbling off the roof.

Darius pivoted round, sheathing his sword and bringing out his pistol to cock its trigger. But only as his eyes directed from his pistol, did he sight the swift little man with the hammer succeed in a wham at Reaver's body.

"Ugh!" came Reaver's startled voice; and with a swift kick he went tumbling to the ground, rolling downwards to the edge of the roof, where his finely clothed legs went tumbling over the edge and only his gloved hands were holding his weight.

Darius fired his pistol thrice times, catching the man in the back with every bullet. But, with one last pit of strength, and before Reaver could pull himself up from the edge, the assassin hurled his hammer and knocked Reaver off.

Inflicted by a desperate rage, Darius moved, sword bearing and with all force behind it, to ram the edge of his blade into the back of the man's neck. The man gurgled, half-screaming, before Darius pulled it out and sent him tumbling with a swift kick.

Noting how the assassin's body rolled slowly down the lines of tiles until falling over the edge a somewhat further distance away than the other bodies which had tumbled over, Darius then observed how far down the distance was from the factory rooftop – and he jumped.

He found Reaver sitting and leaning against a crate outside his factory's walls, his cane lying beside him whilst he was seemingly inspecting his white coat in his hands.

"You're alive," murmured Darius, mouth agape with surprise.

"As are you," said Reaver, albeit ignoring him in favour of his coat, though why he was examining his precious, and yet rather ostentatious, article of clothing Darius could only make assumptions. Reaver sighed, his eyes glancing up at him. "The fall that you look so devastated about was not the result of a lack in ability, I assure you; and if you desire spouts of gratitude or answers to spill from my humble lips, you will find yourself at a most disappointing loss. Truly, I would not like to leave you, our beloved Prince, ever at a disappointment."

"No doubt, I would be...but I find the thought of you, particularly your lips, being anything but humble," said Darius, snorting. "But I _do_ want answers, Reaver. I'm curious about how any man could survive a fall like that..."

Reaver smirked. "Surely you are not that curious. There are far more enticing wonders of the world that one may talk of falling into…say, per chance falling into bed, would you not agree, _mon __petite__ Prince_? I am particularly well versed in _that_ wonderous kind of falling."

Darius scowled. "You're trying to avoid my question!" he accused, and seating himself beside Reaver for a closer inspection, even as the man returned to eying his coat. "There's a reason I survived: I'm a Hero, like my mother," he continued, oddly annoyed at being so easily set aside. But an alarming thought also came to mind, and he frowned, "You got hit bad, Reaver – admit it – and you survived a fall like that, and that could only mean that…that you're the third bloody Hero the assassins spoke of!"

Reaver snorted, and the blue irises in his eyes rose to glare viciously at him. "I have never been a Hero, little Prince, nor do I particularly desire that oh-so esteemed title, so I would think it most wise of you not to associate me with such a name," he growled, and settled back to begin ruffling the ends of his coat. "Nevertheless, am I to take it that the lucky man who struck me down with that overly sized hammer that he bared so aggressively was dealt with?"

"Yes, his body's lying not a few feet away," said Darius, hoping to at least appease Reaver, since he was now being both oddly confusing and looking seemingly aggravated for a man so renowned for his uncaring behaviour. "I sent him flying…gave him his all due reward," he added.

"Indeed. I shall have to remember that as a special prize in my illustrious Team Spirits' Award," chuckled Reaver, with the heart on his cheek crinkling softly again.

Recalling Reaver's actions during his first arrival in Bowerstone, and despite knowing that he had likely given Reaver more ideas in dealing out harsh punishments to his workers, Darius was at least thankful that the notorious tycoon was still making his usual cheerful threats. _The fall didn't cause all that much brain damage, then._

He sighed, "Alas...I think I shall miss this coat; it is simply too ruinous to fix. The fur has been left all askew by that dreadful swordplay, there are multiple gunshot holes everywhere, and it would be near impossible for my servants to wash out all the blood stains."

Rolling his eyes, Darius turned his head and said, "Can't you mend it?"

Reaver gazed at him with an eyebrow mockingly raised; and, much to his surprise, Darius found his traitorous body quite attracted to that look. His top hat was missing as well as his coat, and he was sitting within Darius' personal space, so close in fact that their arms were nearly touching between them. Darius could feel the body heat radiating from Reaver, and the smell of sweat, gunpowder, and tobacco was oddly intoxicating. The industrious man was all but only wearing a waistcoat and a shirt now, with the shirt so evidentially containing a well muscular body.

Darius swallowed, his Adam's apple notably bobbing.

"Those assassins…" he murmured, unwilling to acknowledge the sinking feeling that he enjoyed that Reaver sitting so closely beside him, "whether you're a damn Hero like me or not, they were after you. They came after me and my son this morning, and Walter and I were just off to their base to take care of them when I spotted some assassins – similar to those that tried assassinating me – up on _your_ roof. It would thus be in your benefit to assist me."

"Why should I assist you in your endeavours, when I am most certainly capable of handling my own enemies," said Reaver, smirking. He rose to his feet, standing in front of Darius to expose how truly tall and majestic his figure was, without the imbalance of a balcony or a fight to divert Darius' gaze.

But, in fact, Darius could barely reel his eyes from the man's trousers that stood in front of him. _My God, do not think about what fucking pants he's wearing. Ah...I wouldn't even be thinking about him if it wasn't for that obsessive nitwit of a girl, whatever her name was.  
_

Mentally admonishing his traitorous mind, he said, "Look, Reaver, and I know you regale in doing this, so think of my offer from an industrious point of view. Those noblemen ran off, and others are similarly going to do the same if this organisation sends more assassins after you. People aren't likely to want to do business with you if they believe they'll be shot…or more likely shot then usual, given your reputation."

"You do make a reputable point," noted Reaver, bringing a gloved hand to his chin. "But there are places such men cannot find; I am not without my resources, my Prince," he added, winking alluringly.

"Of course you have resources, Reaver - everyone does. And would you please cease referring to me as 'the Prince', or even 'my Prince', since I am trying to keep a low cover," said Darius, blatantly ignoring the wink.

"Ah, and a cover you are accomplishing quite well," smirked Reaver. "Indeed, the make-up and mercenary clothing that you adorn positively scream that you carry a delectably spirited nature between the sheets. I dare say that it must drive all your little rebellious companions simply wild with passion, does it not?"

"Shut up, Reaver," said Darius, ignoring his last comment. "Anyway, it's not only fear, your workers might begin to think you're scared of these men if don't deal with them eventually. This organisation is challenging you, Reaver, and your associates might take you for being perhaps too afraid or even incapable in defeating them."

Reaver's hands clenched; the one grasping his cane had his knuckles turning a startlingly pale white.

"_Perhaps_ you are correct in your assumptions…it would seem that these miscreants do require some lesson in how the infamous Reaver deals with personal threats against him, and it has admittedly been a while since I was last truly challenged," he said, eying the Prince below him.

Darius groaned, closing his eyes and leaning his head back in thought. _Fuck it, of all the men to find attractive, why must I find Reaver so alluring? _He opened his eyes to find that Reaver had moved nearer, with his seemingly long, delicate fingers held in the fabric of his gloved hand, reaching towards him, barely an inch from his cheek.

"Do you think you could challenge me, Darius?" he asked with a ravanous gaze.

Darius' mouth flew open, practically gasping in surprise. "_Challenge you_!" he growled, for his voice had turned rough and his feelings livid, as if he had in fact been called a coward. He rose to his feet, "Oh, I could do more than –"

"Darius! There you are, lad," Walter called, having rounded the corner of the factory. Darius' eyes flew to him and he nodded, and felt a pang of guilt as Walter leant against the alleyway's wall and began panting. "For a moment I'd thought I lost you, when you bloody jumped off that roof, following Reaver for devil knows why."

Reaver's amorous expression swiftly turned to one of amusement with that comment.

"Shut up, Reaver," Darius found himself muttering once again, since feeling damn well flustered enough without the man's alluring smirk. He returned his gaze to Walter and said, "I'm fine, no need to worry. Reaver's just agreed to join us in defeating this organisation."

He snorted. "I'd say his involvement is enough reason to warrant for worrying," murmured Walter under his breath.

"Come on," urged Darius, motioning to them, "and I'll tell you more about the details of this gang on the way, Reaver…that is, if you're not worrying about your coat still."

"One can never be too concerned over their appearance," Reaver pointed out. "For you see, although, my Prince, you are quite handsome enough to warrant wearing those appalling boots, I could perhaps offer my services in instructing you in more the finer items of clothing available?"

Darius, albeit flushing at the cheeks over the thought of Reaver offering any of 'services', also scowled when having taken in Reaver's full observation.

_What does everyone have against these boots!_


	6. Dealing With The Devil

**Warnings**: Please be aware that this fan-fiction will contain profanities, sexual content, many bloody battles, some character deaths (although no one that the Fables series hadn't already killed off!), and an overly obsessive usage of semi-colons and 'big' words.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Fable series. This piece of fiction is being written for merely entertainment purposes.

Rated: **M!**

A/N: First, I suck at titles; the last one I'm thinking of changing – not the chapter, just the title. Thankfully, this one isn't too shabby, although the next one is better :)  
Secondly, a big thank you! to all my reviewers and readers so far :) especially angelacm, who has incidentally given me a few little ideas during our talks. So yep, huge thank you, folks!  
Thirdly, how does everyone feel about the story so far? I love Reaver's character, but mainly due to the fact that, if faced similarly with a deal to remain young and immortal forever, I don't honestly know how I would act.  
And finally, as I was writing this chap, I came up with an idea. Ben will be joining our Hero in the following chapters (I shan't allow myself to give away spoilers – I shan't!). But anyway, as always, happy reading…

_Summary:__ A few days latter to having rescued Page's men from Reaver's Manor, Darius wakes to find himself and his faithful dog, Rylin, stuck in a cell. It seems like the past always manages to catch up with him. But when an unknown organisation from Bloodstone is bent on killing Heroes and the nobility, the revolution takes on an unexpected turn in its tale. Fable III: Reaver/Prince._

**_A Light To Rival The Darkness_**

**Chapter Six: Dealing With the Devil**

Reaver had forsaken his allegedly ruined coat, fancy top hat, and ridiculous scarf or bow tie or whatever it was he wore around his neck at the factory, having instructed a servant to take them back to his estate in Millfields by coach. He now strolled along in a snug-fitting brown waistcoat, a patterned black shirt with a high collar, white trousers with blood splatters on, and a pair of dark brown boots that, quite surprisingly, made not even the merest of sounds as he walked in step beside Darius and Walter down Wise Street.

"So…the good Prince bore himself a strapping son," Reaver stated, with a wilful grin that was sending shivers down Darius' spin. "My, my, someone has certainly been naughty rebel in his free time, frolicking about outside of his revolutionary business."

Darius shook his head, biting his lip to keep himself from laughing. _Reaver would know how to make a simple word such as 'frolicking' sound both articulate and sensual at the same bloody time._ He glanced in Reaver's direction to his left and caught the man's devious smirk; and Darius scolded himself for thinking of the man earlier as attractive. Reaver's interests lay purely in retaining his industries and, if possible, finding out the location of the rebel's base.

"I am not as good as you might think me, Reaver, and I need not tell you of all my affairs for you to understand why this organisation is against us. You only need to know that they tried to assassinate my son and myself this morning," he retorted soberly, bitterly thankful for the anger that overcame him when he remembered how Tristan might have been grievously hurt. "I don't wish my son to be killed, obviously, and you don't want your reputation ruined…or need I remind you of your precious coat?"

"A pansy coat if I ever saw one," said Walter, chuckling on Darius' right hand-side.

Reaver huffed. "I did not purchase the coat myself. It was in fact a gift from a noble lover," Reaver scolded, with a materialistic gleam about his blue eyes, "and oh, he was a dear man indeed, until he became as clingy as a senseless beast…and then I could not help but feel obligated to shoot the poor man where he stood."

Walter scoffed. "Still a pansy coat," he muttered briskly.

Reaver's eyes drew onto Walter, his narrowing brow displaying the callous industrialist that Darius knew who Reaver truly was. "Well, it is certainly palpable that you lack a care in your wardrobe. Your garments simply scream of having been treated poorly, and I believe they are absolutely filthy, covered in dirt, blood and beverage stains."

Walter scoffed. "Yeah, Reaver – so what? I prefer to spend my nights in Bowerstone's Inns; plenty of beer and whisky to keep me in 'em, and enough good fellows to talk to. No lad's yet spouted off insults against my uniform in an Inn. But I half-expect you don't you like talking much with common folk, eh Reaver?"

"Oh contrary, you aged man, I think myself to be very forthcoming with the common folk of this dear city," said Reaver, chuckling. "Why, even this morning, I was enjoying talking to my staff, ordering them about and the like. I am to assume that is what you meant by talking, yes?"

"Ah, you think you're all clever, you greedy, son of –"

"Leave it, Walter," urged Darius, sighing from the thought of having to listen to them argue, "…since you forget, its Reaver you're talking to."

"I couldn't bloody well forget its Reaver even if I tried," muttered Walter, with his moustache twitching. "But we're here now, I reckon – look, you think that's the factory?"

An old building loomed in front of them, with crates and boxes stacked against its walls. The doors seemed sealed shut, given by the iron lock and chain that fixed the doors together, and no smoke was steaming from the chimneys above, but that didn't deter Darius from believing that someone could be still using the place.

"This must be the old factory those assassins told you about, Darius," murmured Walter, walking up the steps towards the doors.

"Yes, it would seem so, given the lack of smog this building is producing," said Reaver, his eyes inspecting the area, "and yet there are crates and contraptions outside. How odd…I was informed by an associate of mine that the last owner was planning to demolish this particular establishment. He merely said that the owner was half-crazed, but by these boxes…indeed, it does seem now that he was in fact lying to me."

"I'm surprised you didn't check it out or purchase it yourself, Reaver, with the place being so close to the ports," muttered Darius, as he ventured over to inspect the crates.

"I had intended to after it was demolished, though now I think the sooner the better. I shall also have to think over how to reprimand my associate for lying to _moi_," Reaver said thoughtfully. He smirked triumphantly, and added, "But, nonetheless, with the building structure still intact, I'll likely save myself a small fortune."

Darius, who had only half been listening whilst opening a crate's lid with his sword, peaked inside a crate. "Hey, there's gunpowder in here – and lots of it," he called to them.

"Well," said Walter, checking the large lock on the closed main doors, "either someone forgot to store their gunpowder away to make ready for this demolition Reaver here's mentioned, or someone has weaponry that needs a lot of refuelling. Either way looks bad for us though, 'cause it means that these fellas are likely stocked to the brim with gunpowder."

"We can deal with them," said Darius confidently.

Darius closed the lid of the crates he had inspected, and he marched around the steps to climb them and stand beside Walter.

"Think we should knock?" asked Walter, with a teasing smirk on his face.

"No," said Darius, grinning. "Letting them know we're here spoils all the fun."

"Aye, the direct approach 'tis then."

Walter grabbed the rifle that had been resting on his back and shot the lock and chain off, but found that the doors also had locks on from the inside. Darius groaned, and he thought: _Why can't things ever be easy?_

With all his strength and weight, he slammed his side against the doors. Once alone, but on the second he succeeded with Walter's assistance. A distinctive sound of snapping, possibly a lock, was heard, and Walter shoved open the doors with both hands. The noise of the doors slamming against the walls, creaking as their hinges were agitated, echoed out into the street.

A voice scoffed from behind them. "What rebels you are – breaking and entering. Oh, tutty, tutty, Prince," tittered Reaver, though whether he was praising or scolding them Darius really couldn't tell.

"Shut up, Reaver," they chorused dismissively. Reaver snorted, and he followed them up the stairs to proceed inside the building.

Darius stepped inside. Like many factories in Bowerstone, they had first entered the main room, and were faced with the sight of machinery contraptions on either side of the room. But there was next to no lightning, with the machinery turned off. The only lights were flickering, likely from candles, and coming from the adjoining rooms.

"Oi, what's all the racket about out here?" came an unfamiliar woman's voice, along with footsteps from beyond the door to their left. "The next shipment o' goods ain't due till next week, Willy."

"Oh, how fortunate! It appears that someone is at home to greet us," Reaver laughed, taking a side-stance on Darius' right, with a hand on his hip and another wavering over his sheathed pistol.

"Wait a minute," murmured the voice. "A young woman stepped into the room, dressed in a plain worker's attire of a ragged shirt and a skirt with torn edges. "Hey," she shouted, "you're not Willy with those crates Arnold ordered - who are you!"

"The men you tried to have killed off," snarled Darius aggressively. "And who's Arnold, is he the one who sent all those assassins after us?"

"Oh, dear – oh, dear," she stuttered, pacing and bringing a hand through her short ebony hair. She stopped, and glared at them. "Yes, Arnold is the boss around 'ere…and you should know you're trespassing! Oi Arnold, boys – get in here!"

"Thought you were taking care of it, Ricky?" a male's voice shouted in alarm.

"It's not Willy!" she shouted. "It's them Heroes – they survived!"

Men and women wielding all kinds of weaponry began to storm the room in a furious haste; one, three, five, six…Darius stopped counting when a man attired differently from the rest stepped in. Most were dressed in beggar or worker's clothing, one man was even half-dressed, without a shirt and his hair in all scruffy, while the last man to walk in – or seemingly, more like strut in – was attired in a dark jacket without the look of hard-wear and black breeches tucked into a pair of brown shoes.

"Ricketta," he hollered, his dark eyes rounding on the woman, "why'd you fucking let them in!"

"I didn't, Arnold – they broke in," she pleaded. Ricketta had grabbed her own weapon: a sword, albeit one that seemed as if it were rusting away.

"Well don't just stand there, you buffoons," Arnold yelled, waving his hands at them as they stood opposite and staring motionlessly at Darius and his companions. "Attack 'em!"

The order awakened a fury in them.

Six men charged at them whilst others opened fire with their guns. Darius seized his Black Dragon pistol from his side and gunned down Ricketta and two other men, with Walter and Reaver similarly using their long-range weapons. Bullets rang past them, flying through the open doors and into the street outside.

The men were untrained, poorly led, and they didn't stand a chance, unlike the assassins that Darius had dealt with earlier. They – Walter, Reaver, and himself – were shooting practically in unison, whilst Arnold's men seemed to think that if they all just went in bearing swords they'd eventually get near enough to kill them.

They weren't that lucky. Since leaving the castle, Darius gun-skills had been let loose. He'd enjoyed shooting apples and plates as targets back in the castle, worrying Jasper to seemingly no end, but the smell of gunpowder – burning metal and charcoal – in a real battle made him feel powerful, dangerous, and alive with energy.

He had known of his Will abilities for only two years; and casting magic was exciting to begin with, but he was so much more familiar with a gun or a sword in his hands.

A few latecomers where entering the scene through the adjoining doorways. Arnold took up a rifle from one of his dead men and took aim.

"Argh!" Walter moaned.

Walter fell to his knees on his left, clutching his stomach; Arnold had shot him in the gut. Darius watched the black-haired man sneer with a certain cold smugness that caused his cheeks to broaden, before he lifted the rifle to take aim again.

Enraged, Darius threw an instinctive fireball at the man, lighting his posh jacket up in flames. Arnold dropped his gun and the trigger went off, catching him in the ankle with a _crack!_ He hopped twice before tumbling to the floor, clutching at his leg.

Darius fingers cocked his gun to aim at him.

Reaver shot down the last two men standing, who'd turned to try fleeing through the doors whilst Darius' attention was diverted. Walking past Walter, Reaver placed an extra bullet in one of men's corpses as he made to stand beside Darius.

"Walter?" called Darius, not daring to turn his back on either Arnold or Reaver. The two were about as loyal to him as his own brother was the last time Darius had stood in the throne room. "Walter, are you okay back there?"

"I'm fine," he replied. Darius heard him shifting, and then a clear groan, "…Though it'd be nice if you'd hurry it up about questioning him, lad."

"Why would I confess what my mistress is planning," Arnold growled.

"Is your mistress the leader of this whole rebellion?"

Arnold remained silent; he was sitting on the ground, his knees brought up to his chest to clutch at his ankle. Sighing in what Darius thought was exasperation, Reaver then shot the man's hand - and Arnold screamed. Darius' eyes turned heatedly to Reaver.

"Reaver!" he growled. "You…You don't do things without asking me first – is that clear?"

"Oh crystal, my Prince. But if you would rather your soldier companion die from that most unfortunate wound he has acquired, then do let us drag out this interrogation," he said. "Truly, it is no concern of mine if he dies…"

"Fine."

"My mistress…her name is Formosa. I don't know what she's got against you," stumbled Arnold, spluttering out his words in breathy pants. "But her base is in Bloodstone, and she –"

"Bloodstone, you say," said Reaver, eyebrows raised. Arnold nodded frantically, his fearful eyes watching the gun in Reaver's hand. "Well, now you have certainly spiked my curiosity. I do rather enjoy that quaint, debauched little town."

Darius ignored Reaver's mutterings. "Continue…don't leave anything out."

"She wants the throne for herself; she knows the Hero Queen was only declared Queen after the people made her, and she thinks Logan and you don't deserve it. She wants to free the land back to its people…back to the farmers, workers. They're all supporting her."

Reaver snorted. "She is a foolish woman. Albion has always those with power above others, whether they were noblemen or simple house owners. Having the people declare the Queen royalty was simply making her leadership more official, more serious."

"The people don't need a Queen, nor men like you, Reaver," he spat. Reaver huffed, and made to take aim again, causing the man's gaze to widen in fear. "Don't shoot, I beg you! I'll continue…Formosa, she – err – she started with a raid against Bloodstone's tavern's owner, who'd been dealing out high prices, and many a man supported her after it. I think she owns a good share of Bloodstone now, and she has the Assassinations' Society on her side…"

His eyes darkened with loathing, "She knows everything about you too, Prince. She won't speak about her reasons over why she 'ates you, but she'll have your blood. She's plans to gather men from Westcliff and the Bandit Coast, burn Millfields to the ground, and then press onto Bowerstone to strike at you and all other monstrous tycoons, Reaver. Once she hits these shores from Bloodstone, she'll spare no one – no lord nor lady, no nobleman nor woman, and no blood-sucking industrialist – she'll make you all pay and give the common people back their human rights."

Darius raised his gun to aim for the man's head. "Where's her base in Bloodstone?" he demanded.

Of Bloodstone, Darius only knew that Wraithmarsh surrounded the town on the north, east, and west side, and so the safest entry point would be to come into its port by the ocean that was to the south. Jasper had instructed him very little on all the areas within Albion, and he knew that there had to more to this town called Bloodstone.

"I'll not tell you, Prince. You'll both die like the gold-seeking butchers you are," spat Arnold, and reached over towards the rifle with his unwounded hand.

Darius and Reaver fired their pistols – Darius' shot struck him in the back of his head, whilst Reaver's in his moving hand. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Reaver's smirk. It was the cleanest shot Darius had even seen anyone make.

"I do so despise it when people insist on drivelling on, you know," drawled Reaver, holding his pistol upward in his hand so that the smoke would be avoidable. He sheathed his pistol into the slip at his side.

But something was wrong – time had stopped. Arnold Henning was frozen in place, certainly dead, but his arm was in mid-air and seemingly stuck still reaching for the gun. Similarly, and turning back to see, Walter was also suspended in time. He was not panting nor groaning.

However, Reaver was not. If his supreme dexterity and skilled proficiency with a gun had not convinced Darius that he was a Hero, nor the knowledge that he could survive a fall from a great height that would impair most men, then the sight of his amused expression, with the raised brow and crinkling of the heart on his cheek, when he was meant to be frozen in time certainly had.

Darius sighed as the familiar sight of a portal formed before the wall at the end of the room.

Reaver hummed indifferently. "It would seem that you are being called for an audience, _Hero_," he said, looking particularly nonchalant about it.

"It's Theresa," he murmured, whilst using the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. "She tends usually to call on me after a fight, injured or otherwise it seems."

"Yes, the woman certainly does retain some inane abilities in managing to intrude upon one's life," agreed Reaver. "But you should tatty along, then – you do not want to keep her waiting forever."

"I bet she'd like to talk to you too, you know," Darius said, lying, if only to have someone – even Reaver – accompany him to stand before Theresa for once.

"Alas, I must take my leave, my Prince, though I know you shall miss my charming presence. I have yet that associate of mine to _deal_ with, but no doubt, I am quite sure that distasteful old hag may still provide you with a tedious little speech," said Reaver, crossing his arms over his waistcoat. "Besides, this matter concerning Bloodstone intrigues me a considerable sum more than any potential task that hag may set upon your handsome shoulders."

"It interests me as well, Reaver," insisted Darius, glancing over at Walter's form. The man still remained paused in time, still kneeling with a hand on his leg. "Once this Formosa sets foot on land at Bandit's Coast, it won't matter who's on the throne. Her presence will cause chaos."

Reaver's eyebrows were raised, but not in humour. He appeared curious, surprised even.

"Pray tell me, what do you intend to do?" asked Reaver, though by his tone Darius reckoned the devious tycoon was already formulating a plan to his own liking. "Bloodstone, as I recall, is to be either found across the ocean or through a wasteland of dangerous beasts. It is hardly a palpable venture for a rebel so desirably needed to remain in his current location."

In determining Reaver's play in all this by his serious, unsmiling, and yet prying expression, Darius reasoned that no harm could come from revealing ideas or theories on how he should act. If at best, with Reaver's clear experience, he might even prove accidentally useful.

"I need to take down this organisation, no matter what," he murmured, assured. "I cannot risk another bout of assassins coming for me again, and I am not so important that I need remain here, Reaver. Others may take care of certain tasks; you are not only one without resources."

Elise could aid them in the revolution. The guards would notice Page and her men almost instantly if they attempted to openly recruit others, but Logan had paid Elise no attention in ordering for only their wanted posters to be stuck around Albion. There was also Ben Finn and Captain Swift, and all the other allies Darius had made, for he was certainly not the only one capable in raising forces.

"You intend to travel to Bloodstone?" said Reaver, with a grin only now forming on his lips.

"Yes," Darius gritted out, amongst gnashing his teeth. There was something maddening about Reaver's subtle smirk; it concealed his thoughts through a façade of amusement, and Darius' desire to make the tycoon to lose that smirk delved alarmingly into the regions of both sex and violence. "Yes," he repeated, his tone less irritated, "I do intend on travelling by ship to Bloodstone. There are many ports around Albion, I could take ship from _any_ of them."

It was well known that Reaver controlled Bowerstone's ports, evidently acting as Logan's watchful eyes. Sailing from Bowerstone would almost certainly get him caught.

"Ah, you could travel from any port, little Prince, but it would seem an awful trial to locate one without Logan's most watchful minions nearby."

"Oh, and I suppose you have a better idea?" he grumbled.

"A mere proposition, if you will indulge me," said Reaver. He relaxed his arms, placing one on his right hip; the man looked as if he were casually posing. "These Bloodstone rebels also concern me. I am not sure if you are aware, but I hold several assets there, including the local whorehouse, which I should not like to see lost to a band of senseless plebs. Your assistance in ridding this problem would thus prove somewhat useful to me…"

Darius nodded.

He continued, "So, I put forward that you and I should travel together, my Prince. I possess a ship that may usher us to Bloodstone, as well as Manor in which you may reside in during your stay. All I ask in return for this safe passage to Bloodstone and my warm hospitality is that of a small favour."

"What's this small favour, Reaver?" asked Darius, with an eyebrow suspiciously raised.

He smiled deviously. "Only that you take a precious artifact to a society that resides close by Bloodstone. It is a tedious task, admittedly, but one that I must undergo every year."

"Why can't you do it yourself?"

"Alas, this society and I were at odds in our last meeting," he replied, sighing. "They are not the most welcoming of acquaintances, and the deal I made with them, whereby they would provide me with a reputable sum for the odd relic I find, now seems to dissatisfy them."

"Why not just ignore them – break off this agreement between you?" asked Darius.

"I signed a…contract of sorts," he muttered. "You see, as far as I have searched the matter, this agreement is not retractable, and yet their reward for the artefacts I bring is most befitting with my desires. If not you, my Prince, I could find the assistance of another…"

Reaver moved his gloved hand from his hip to hold it out, indicating that Darius should shake it.

"All right, I'll _assist_ you," said Darius, placing his hand in his and noting the glove's smooth, soft fabric. "I'll deliver your blasted artifact, but only if you give me safe passage there and permit me, if I ever feel the need, to reside in your Manor."

"Oh, I'm sure you will find the _need_, my benevolent Prince," said Reaver, his words running down Darius' spine like icy water. "In any case, we are in an agreement. Simply remember to meet me by the port at midnight in precisely two days time, fully prepared to take ship, and all will proceed as intended so that we might start our little adventure together."

"Yes, an _adventure_ – that term does suit this situation well. And in two days time?" Darius murmured. "Yes, I'm sure I can remember that, Reaver."

"Then tatty-bye, my scheming rebel," he said, bowing low. He rose with a wink, and said, "Until then, I shall hope to endeavour that our next little outing will result with a much more corrupt and pleasurable end."

Darius' hands clenched as Reaver then turned to leave, with his traitorous eyes devouring the man's body. His muscled back and shoulders, his shapely arse, and above all, his thighs in those tailored bloodstained trousers. _I could drag him against the wall, grab at those blasted thighs, and fuck him till he cried out for more – and he'd let me. God – those fucking thighs!_ His cock had hardened; he couldn't deny it, how he wanted Reaver.

The tycoon no less strutted out of the building, and only then did Darius groan and release out a heavy breath of air, one that he hadn't realised he'd been holding. He swore angrily, cursing his own dick; but seeing Walter, even paused in time, caused it to waver almost instantly.

He didn't need Reaver to sort this mess out; he could travel through Wraithmarsh, if he truly needed. But Reaver owned a ship, one that could get him there in half the time, and he was a Hero, whether he would admit so or not, and so could therefore be similarly useful to him.

Darius sighed, and walked across the room to head through the portal to emerge on the Road to Rule, as Theresa called it. The large gate loomed ahead of him; Theresa had once told him that the Road would not let him proceed unless Sabine's tasks had all been completed, which had taken near seven or eight months to accomplish. This gate required something else of him – perhaps to gather another ally?

Theresa shimmered into appearance through her own Will powers. The red robe she wore hid her eyes from his view as always, but her lips were tensely thin.

"You have kept me waiting, Hero," she berated. "Forming new attachments, are we? But no matter…you're path has been set before you. Your actions of the past have determined it so, and the consequences will fall. Henning was not the first to oppose your rule, nor will be the last. This organisation must be defeated if you're to secure your rule and keep Albion's peace, for if not chaos and destruction will fall on Albion."

"Where is Bloodstone?" he asked.

"Bloodstone is a town without an enforced law. It is why Reaver revels in its place and has for so long vacated there. Your deal with Reaver will enable you safe passage there, but be forewarned: the price that you pay in return may be far greater than what you'll receive."

Theresa vanished, and Darius exited through the returning portal. Time continued; Arnold's reaching arm fell to the floor, his body motionless and dead, and Walter was moving again.

"Walter!" shouted Darius upon seeing him move, and he ran to his side. "Are you okay?"

"I'm getting too old for this nonsense, lad," groaned Walter, looking about the room with weary eyes. "And where's Reaver gone off to?"

"He said to deal with that associate who lied," said Darius. "But we're to meet with him at Bowerstone's port in two days on the stroke of midnight. I'll explain it all on the way back, Walter, but the summary is that I'm taking ship with Reaver to Bloodstone to sort out this organisation. This revolution to have me replace Logan, it cannot be done until the threat this band of rebels poses is removed."

"All right, lad," said Walter, rising unsteadily to his feet. Darius slipped an arm around his waist, taking the man's weight whenever possible as they walked through the door. "I'm not sure I understand your firmness in getting rid of them, nor do I like the idea of travelling on a ship with Reaver, but I trust you – and I'll go along with you if you need me."

"You won't be moving anywhere if that leg of yours hasn't recovered by then," he jibed, causing Walter to snort. "Sorry," Darius said, and sighed, "Let's just get you back to the base. I'll explain everything once I know I won't have to repeat it five hundred times to everyone."

/~~~\

"And here I thought this gang was something small," remarked Page, with her hands tensely leaning on the War Room's map. "Instead, we're facing a second opponent, another rebellion against the throne, and one set on killing Logan and every nobleman in all of Albion to create change rather than by achieving it through simply dethroning Logan."

"Isn't that what we want though, too?" Ben asked. "Whether we kill Logan or not, he's still off the throne."

"No one is killing my brother," seethed Darius, "not unless it's absolutely necessary."

"The Prince is right," agreed Page, in her usual solemn tone. "We don't want to cause any more bloodshed then what's necessary, and these Bloodstone rebels have to be taken out before they set foot on Bandit Coast."

"So you agree – they need to be taken out?" said Darius.

"Yes, I agree with you on that, but not with you in seeking help from Reaver!" she berated, shaking her head. "I don't trust that him – and neither should you, Darius. I can barely believe you even made a deal with him; it's like you made a deal with the devil. "

"That's what I've been saying," said Ben, bringing a hand to point at himself. "Send me along as well, Page. I've done nothing but clean weapons since I've been here, and I'm just itching for some action. Plus, Darius here knows nothing about sailing, and I could teach him a thing or two from my – err – sailing days, you know."

"What you mean is, your days from working as a smuggler?" she rebuked.

He groaned. "Okay, I made a few mistakes before I met up with old Swifty and joined up. Like I said before, I blame it on youth adolescence. But I know Bloodstone – I docked there during my smuggling days. I know what that place is like, and I can help him."

She sighed heavily. "All right, Ben, you and Darius will join Reaver on that blasted ship of his to sort out these Bloodstone rebels," said Page, albeit placing a hand on her forehead and shaking her head. "Although, the thought of you two with sailing with Reaver, getting up to God only knows whilst you're in Bloodstone…Damn, I think I need a drink."

"Page – page! You gotta come, quickly!"

One of her men, Kidd, came running up to the doorway.

Page's eyes narrowed. "What is it, Kidd?" she asked directly.

"Folk in town are marching towards the castle, they're saying Logan's gonna be holding a demonstration outside," he panted, leaning on an arm against the doorway. "I came straight here…it doesn't look good, Page. They say they'll be more than fifty guards alone on watch, not including Logan's own purple goons."

"Put on a disguise, you two," she said, directing her gaze back on Darius and Ben, "you're both going to the castle to check it out. But just be aware that you're on your own in there. They'd recognise me on the spot, and Walter here is too injured to make it. But Elise and I, we can keep an eye on your son whilst you're gone."

Elise nodded. She was still holding Tristan, though Darius had held gotten him back for an hour whilst they had attended to Walter's stomach wound, getting the bullet out of him. Although even now, she had opted to sit beside Walter, who had, as per his request, been given a foldable bed in the War Room.

_She's only seen him again for a couple of hours and already she's faced with the possibility of him dying_, Darius thought. Perhaps he was worrying too much, but Walter was an old soldier and Darius had rarely ever seen the man get wounded before.

"Come on mate, we'll leave them to it," said Ben. "Besides, I need to find myself a disguise. You don't think anyone round here has something like that ballroom thing you wore?"

Darius shook his head, chuckling. "You could ask Page if you could burrow her dress?"

Ben's eyebrows flew up in alarm. "Yeah, and right after she'd gut me one." Darius continued laughing, even as Ben scowled and said, "I'm not kidding. You weren't conscious when she removed those bullets and stitched you up after coming back from that incident down in the sewers. She was insulting you the whole way through it…I half-thought she'd fix you up just to kill you herself. Bleeding frightening, she was…"

Managing to stop himself from laughing, Darius smiled. He would probably never admit it to Page, given how serious their conversations were half the time, but he was damn grateful for her help recently. _If she'd only just lighten up a bit, though…Ben might actually stand a chance at wooing her then._


	7. Traitors

**Warnings**: Please be aware that this fan-fiction will contain profanities, sexual content, many bloody battles, some character deaths (although no one that the Fables series hadn't already killed off!), and an overly obsessive usage of semi-colons and 'big' words.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Fable series. This piece of fiction is being written for merely entertainment purposes.

Rated: **M!**

A/N: I'm having terrible fun playing with the word, 'Will' – seriously, just terrible. If anyone wants to know why or just wants a laugh, read Shakespeare's Sonnet 135. Whenever he wrote 'Will', he was supposedly referring to himself, his penis, or the woman's husband; and literary academics are unsure about which it is, so I find it so oddly amusing. Also, sorry it's taken an extra week for this chap to come up, but I hope you enjoy it :) And if anyone does spot any mistakes, do feel free PM me about them :) Thanks.  
Also, to my last reviewer: the mysterious fan - you made me laugh! I never would have thought to describe Darius as a playboy, but yes, I suppose he is one. Anyway, I can't give away any specific details, since I have yet to even begin writing the next chapter, but I can assure you that Darius will be writhing under Reaver eventually ;)  
Ps: If anyone is confused about the timeline, the details are now below (somehow, I think this is more detailed – and just better – than my actual summary):

**Timeline (events dating back to when Darius left the castle):**

*2 months – Jennifer the Dweller dies whilst out on their fifth date (a day after finishing Sabine's task of stopping the mercenary's attacks).  
*5 months – Victoria and Darius are married, and she finds herself 1 month pregnant.  
*8 months – Victoria is 4 months pregnant, and Darius has completed all of Sabine's tasks. He owns all of the Dweller's shacks and virtually most of the houses in Brightwall by then.  
*10 months – Victoria is 6 months pregnant, and during this two-month period, Darius has travelled to Mourningwood with Walter and assisted Major Swift in his hollow men issue. He also, unwittingly, assists Lenny in the rebuilding of The Dark Sanctum in Mourningwood.  
*13 months (1 year) – Victoria gives birth, and Darius makes up excuses in order to visit her constantly so that can assist her through the last few months and the birthing process.  
*15 months (1yr, 3 months) – Tristan is 2 months old when Darius discovers that Victoria has been cheating on him. He marches to their house without notifying her about his return and catches the blacksmith with his wife upstairs in bed, with Tristan downstairs crying. He kills them both, pays off the guards, and moves with Tristan to Millfields.  
*18 months (1yr, 6 months) – Tristan is five months old, and Darius is finally persuaded by Walter meet the rebels in Bowerstone. But for safety, he keeps Tristan in Millfields.  
*21 months (1yr, 9 months) – Darius spends his time going about attempting to convince the people of Bowerstone city to support their cause. He moves Tristan to Bowerstone to remain nearby, employing a new nanny called Lydia Bones to look after him.  
*22 months (1 yr, 10 months) – Tristan is nine months old when Darius goes to rescue Page's men from Reaver's mansion. The story begins a few days from then…

_Summary: A few days latter to having rescued Page's men from Reaver's Manor, Darius wakes to find himself and his faithful dog, Rylin, stuck in a cell. It seems like the past always manages to catch up with him. But when an unknown organisation from Bloodstone is bent on killing Heroes and the nobility, the revolution takes on an unexpected turn in its tale. Fable III: Reaver/Prince._

_**A Light To Rival The Darkness**_

**Chapter Seven: Traitors**  
"Yes. Traitors walk amongst us," declared Logan, as he was stood on the balcony of Bowerstone castle. "Traitors plot to end us. Traitors would have you believe their cause is noble."

Darius and Ben walked amongst the crowd of men and women who had gathered, attempting to obtain a closer position to hear Logan without being recognised.

It was the first time Darius had seen Logan since leaving the castle. His elder brother was adorning his usual purple attire, haircut, and scowl. But there was something wrong – something Logan was angry about. _Traitors…he's gathered he whole city here just to talk about traitors to Albion? Damn it, what's Logan's line here?_

"They wear many masks. They may look like your friends. They may even look like your most loyal servants."

Darius had opted for the ballroom robes he had adorned for Reaver's party; and fortunately, as there were many nobles attending the demonstration, he didn't look as out of place as much as he originally thought he would.

Whereas Ben, with little time to spare and none of Page's men having any spare clothes on them, had changed into his off-duty clothes. He looked as if he were just another worker now, in his shirt, jacket and breeches. Perhaps that was why he wore his army uniform so often.

"This…" Logan growled.

One of Logan's royal guards, clothed in the royal purple uniform and armour, brought out a man. Ben's eyes widened, his breathing hitched; but Darius couldn't identify the man, dressed in only a white shirt and brown breeches, until he took in the unshaven, twirled moustache - and realised then that the man was Major Swift!

"This is the face of a traitor," seethed Logan, pointing to direct the crowd's gaze, as Major Swift walked onto a smaller balcony that lay below Logan.

"Swift…" Ben murmured.

Major Swift wasn't struggling. There were chains around his feet, and likely around his hands too, though they were being kept behind his back and hidden from the crowd's sight.

"Major Swift, a respected member of the army and sworn servant to the kingdom, has plotted against us all."

The guard holding Swift kept placing an arm on him - either on his elbow, shoulder, or back - and Swift just looked at the guard. He seemed a little miffed, but he wasn't struggling to get away. The guard seized his arm and twisted it around his back. A brief expression of pain passed over Swift's face, before he returned his gaze on the crowd.

Logan beckoned Swift, who was standing on the steps below him, by thrusting a hand to his chest.

"He was apprehended trying to turn loyal soldiers against us, and is thus charged with espionage, treason, and conspiracy," Logan called, counting each charge with a wave of his hand. "Yet there are still others darkening our land with their betrayal."

Logan, motioning to Swift's guard, enclosed his gloved hand into a fist. The guard pushed Swift by the back to his knees, and took three careful steps back.

"We shall hunt these traitors down, wherever they may be," snarled Logan, as the guard took out his pistol and fired. The noise echoed across the castle. "And they shall suffer the same fate as Major Swift – the fate of all enemies of the throne!"

Major Swift's kneeling form stood still for only a moment before falling to his side, with his face – eyes closed, expressionless, and his moustache frazzled at the ends – meeting the stone ground.

Darius and Ben looked away. The crowd began to disperse; families were moving to leave the castle's grounds, and the guards were keeping others in check. Darius could distinctly hear at least one man or woman raging at a guard over the display.

Ben had a hand blocking his eyes, as if they themselves would somehow betray him. He took it away, and turned to Darius with a narrowed, vicious-looking gaze.

"He has to be stopped, no matter what it takes," he growled. His hardened face made him seem older: there was wrinkles on his forehead, which, despite the restrained anger he was feeling, given by his clenched fists, made him appear inadvertently wiser. "He has to be…"

Darius nodded, unsure of how else to react. He was angry over what his brother had become; he couldn't think of anything else. Only how Logan had become a tyrant, and that Darius felt like he would do anything – anything! – to have him dethroned now.

But Ben grabbed him by the shoulder and turned them away from the scene.

"Come on…" he said. "We need to tell the others."

/~~~\

"Swift was a good friend…he died like a true soldier," murmured Walter from his bedside. The old soldier was still dressed in his uniform, though Darius quietly believed that it couldn't have been very comfortable.

Ben scoffed. "A true soldier. Let's not pretend there was anything noble about the way he died," he growled, lying his hands aggressively on the table. "He was tortured, humiliated, and murdered."

"And he didn't give Logan anything, or we'd be dead now," replied Walter, opening his eyes to glare angrily at Ben. "I'd call that noble, wouldn't you?"

"It was just a matter of time before Logan did this…before he decided to hunt us down," said Page, sighing. "We have to fight back!"

"We're still not ready though. We need more allies," warned Walter. "But thanks to Swift's efforts, we know exactly where to look."

"A soldier still loyal to the old guard brought us a message from the Major," said Page, turning her gaze on to Darius. "He took a great risk in meeting me at the Riveter's Inn whilst you two were out, since Walter was unable to walk and we had to somehow make contact without giving the location of our base away. Fortunately, we weren't seen by all that many people in the Inn."

"What does the message say?" asked Darius.

Page took the note from her pocket and gave it to Darius.

"'You will find allies in Aurora'," he read, frowning. "But I have to take care of those rebels in Bloodstone first!"

"That's what we're still planning for you to do, actually," she scolded. "Aurora lies across the sea, and it's a dead land. There's nothing there but sand, so I don't understand how anyone there could help us. "

"Or at least, that's what we've been told," muttered Walter, opening his eyes. "Besides, it's the only lead we've got at the moment…and with Logan's _demonstration _just now, we'll be unlikely to find any more allies in Bowerstone anytime soon."

"Look, can we just get on with doing something!" moaned Ben. "I have an overwhelming urge to shoot someone –"

"We know, Ben. We're all feeling _that_ particular urge right now," said Page, directing her gaze over to him. "But our plan for you and Darius to head to Bloodstone stands, even if I trust Reaver about as much as that bastard King, Logan…err, no offence intended, Prince."

"None taken," said Darius.

She hummed softly. "Whilst you were out, Walter also informed me about those leftover barrels of gunpowder inside the factory, so I've sent my men out to bring them back here. This means that, while you're on your way to Bloodstone, Walter and I can begin planning the safest possible way in getting to Aurora, as well as how we can best use that gunpowder when we attempt to take down Logan in Bowerstone castle."

"We're nearly there, lad," assured Walter, nodding. "There are a few more things to take care of before we can finally take action against Logan, but we're nearly there."

"Yeah, but we don't set sail for two days – what do you expect us to do until then?" said Ben, waving his arms insistently above his head. "Even then, we're on a ship for half a week with nothing to do."

"Don't forget your taking ship with Reaver, Ben," countered Page, her eyes narrowing. "Keep yourselves to yourselves, don't give him our location, and for god's sake, don't get yourselves killed in Bloodstone. Until you take ship, you can do whatever the bloody hell you want – you might even want to help out the guards in Millfeilds, since I hear they're having trouble with bandits – but once you're on board Reaver's ship, you damn well better watch your backs."

Elise was nodding along over beside Walter's bedside. Tristan was still sleeping in her arms, looking without a care as he sucked aimlessly on his thumb.

"If I may say so, Darius, you could spend some time with little Tristan here before you go," she advised. "Walter and I will make sure he's safe when you leave, while Page can attend to her men. But you could even take him home to your estate in Millfeilds for these two days."

"Sounds like a good idea," replied Darius thoughtfully.

"I suppose I'll just stay underground until we leave then," muttered Ben, sounding almost moody. "After all, it's not like I can just waltz up to a guard and ask to help…not with my face up on every poster in Albion."

"You could stay down here with Walter and I whilst we plan on how best effectively to use the gunpowder we've collected," said Page, shrugging.

Ben sighed and took his fists from the table, standing back.

"Fine, but as long as I'm not cleaning rifles again," he muttered. "At least, if I'll be talking about gunpowder, I might get a chance to use it."

Page nodded, taking her concerned gaze away from Ben. "Then it's decided - and you had best leave soon, Prince, if you intend on getting to Millfeilds by nightfall."

Darius nodded, and he moved to take Tristan from Elise's arms.

"You'd better get back to your fiancée as well, Elise," said Page. "Bowerstone Industrial turns nasty come nightfall for any street walker, especially with Reaver's poor wages increasing the local crime rates."

Page's face soured; she tossed Darius an irritated look, and he knew that if she had been in his place in the factory, she would have never accepted that deal. Like her, Darius also despised Reaver, but not for his sexual deviances (Darius had committed his own likewise sins) as so much for his callous ways towards the public.

Darius could not understand how Reaver had no sympathy in his heart. Reaver was rich and handsome, skilled with weaponry, and apparently a Hero to boot, which led him to question if Reaver had ever been poor? Had he always been as skilled with a gun? Was he always a Hero – and if so, how did he know Theresa?

Page didn't, and would likely never, know that Reaver was a Hero. But kind of Hero was he? A Hero of Skill certainly, but was that it? Did the infamous Reaver have no strength or will abilities in him?

Darius rocked his son in his arms, watching as Elise dusted herself down and made to leave the room. He escorted her to the door and bid her farewell.

But questions upon questions developed away inside of him, and, as he teleported himself to the Sanctuary to make for his estate in Millfeilds, Darius was determined that next time he spoke with Theresa she would tell him about Reaver.

_Damn her excuses, information, tasks, or whatever else_, he thought, _I want answers…and she won't disappear on me as quickly as she did last bloody time, I'll make sure of that._

/~~~\

Darius had put his son to bed upstairs, Rylin was lying on the couch, and all financial matters over the repairing of houses in Brightwall had been settled. The only thing of importance left was to talk to Theresa.

He bought the Guild Seal out from around his neck and clutched it between his hands.

"Theresa, I need to speak with you – now."

"Ah, Hero," came Theresa's mystical voice through the seal, "Is the matter you wish to speak of particularly important?"

"You could say it is," he muttered.

"Then you should come to the Road; we shan't be overheard there," she said.

Willing himself to the Road, Darius was greeted with the sight of Theresa standing before him, looking no different than their previous meeting.

Theresa's hands came together. "What is it that has you so concerned, Hero?"

He snorted. "You're the one who has me _so_ concerned, actually. You never told me Logan would try to kill people to find me, or that it would take this long to stop him!" he growled. "You never told me that there was another Hero in existence – Reaver – or that some rebel gang would attempt to kill my son!"

"Your path was set ahead of you even before you even left the castle, young Prince," she said. "Every decision you have made has had dramatic effects on your future, and your choice long ago to kill the leaders, and many of the other protestors outside the palace, can have an effect even now."

"I know – that incident has something to do with why some rebels are attacking now. But what I don't know is next to nothing about Reaver, Bloodstone, or what I should expect from these so-called rebels of Bloodstone," Darius growled. "You're a seeress, damn it, so why can't you tell me what you see?"

Theresa's lips thinned; she seemed tense, perhaps even angry.

"Reaver has lived for many years – he is almost as old as I. He has met and dealt with many Heroes, but one among them was your mother. He knew her as Sparrow, I believe."

"My mother?" Darius' mouth dropped open in disbelief. His mother had passed away due to old age, according to Walter, only a year following the death of his alcoholic father. "But he – Reaver looks so young. Shouldn't he look forty or something by now?"

"Do not be deceived as your mother once was," she seethed, her hood rising. Darius swore he caught a glimpse of her eyes – her bright blue, blind eyes. "I cannot tell you of how he continues to live, for the Shadow Court ensures that all lips are kept as silent as well as they maintain their deals, but know this: Reaver harbours a soul without a glimmer of light."

"What's the Shadow Court?"

"I can say no more, Hero. Only know that you unwittingly assisted in their cause some time ago, by providing financial to build the Dark Sanctum in Mourningwood," she scolded lightly. "Whilst the Shadows are not powerful enough to make their appearance known there, I will say that this Sanctum will endanger your future – and Albion's future – should your actions allow it."

"There will be a choice in your future, and it will be similar to the one once offered to Reaver. But be forewarned: he is the Thief – a thief of many things, but most of all the light. He will steer even you towards the darkness and shadows, Hero, and should your actions allow it, he will _steal_ your light, as he did your mother's," she warned darkly. "Should you fulfill Reaver's end of the deal you made, the second seal you wear will act as a protection, but also a curse."

"This seal?"

Darius pulled it out from lying beneath his shirt.

"That is the Temple of Light's seal, once given to your mother for her loyalty to Oakfield's Temple and their monks."

"Is there anything I can do to protect myself from this curse you speak of?" he asked timidly.

"Sometimes, Hero, to protect the ones we love from darkness and shadows alike, we must bear the curses of the light," Theresa murmured, her voice eerie from knowing too much. "It shall be your choice to bear this great burden, but if you do not, Albion will be consumed by the shadows."

Darius scowled. "Darkness, shadows, light – you're being vague! Why can't you just tell me?"

"You wish to know what awaits you, but I cannot say, for there are too many paths available to you," she said. "Nevertheless, this choice that you must make will not come until you have defeated the rebels in Bloodstone, for they remain the true threat on your road to rule."

Darius nodded. "They knew where I lived; they attacked my house this morning."

"Indeed. You have gained many allies in your journey, but you have also made enemies. Formosa is the leader of this rebellion against you and the crown, but there are others that stand and fight beside her. Her dealings in Bloodstone have not gone unheard of."

"How am supposed to find them in Bloodstone?"

"Your companions will assist you in finding your way about the pirate town, but do not rely solely upon the Soldier or the Thief," she warned, in a tone more sympathetic. "It is easy for any being to lose their way…be sure that you do not lose yours in Bloodstone, young Hero."

Theresa vanished in the whirl of blue sparkles, caused by her Will powers. _It's likely she's a bloody Hero as well, _reflected Darius with a snort. _Everyone seems to be one nowadays._

Willing himself back into his Millfields' Manor, Darius made to tidy his work away on a nearby desk. The Manor was much warmer than his house in Bowerstone, and offered more area on the ground floor to allow for more kitchen space and a play area for Tristan. Jasper had decorated the place though, and it wasn't safe for children without constant supervision.

There was a rising number in mercenary activity in Millfields, likely caused by the poor working and living conditions from both Logan and Reaver ruling over the people, and so Darius was reluctant to venture outside with his son. Likely, he would have to Will himself around when it came to food shopping for them.

With all his things in his desk, away from being drawn on by Tristan in the morning, Darius ventured outside. Rylin was still sleeping on the couch, so he daren't lock or close the door. He left it open with the smallest of gaps, and proceeded to walk around the side of his Manor to climb the stairs to his bedroom. He entered through the door, cursing at how cold the night air was, and locked it from the inside.

Tristan was sleeping in a crib situated next to his bed. After the death of Victoria, Darius had moved himself and his son to this very house in Millfields, ensuring that the crib was also brought along. Hiding Tristan from Walter and Jasper had been difficult then; he had no one on a regular basis, and constantly relied on a friend he had made in Brightwall – old Doris Merchine, a stall owner – to watch over Tristan.

The Bowerstone Orphanage had been a blessing when he had learned that he could hire a full-time nanny, even if now he mistrusted them all after taking on Lydia Bones.

But thankful that he had been able to at least provide for his son outside of the castle, Darius whispered goodnight to him, slipped off his breeches, and crawled into bed. He slept well that night, and the next, for the sound of hooting owls and Rylin's snoring was a considerably lot softer than the noise of Bowerstone Industrial at night.

/~~~\

Darius awoke in a lazy haze. It was dawn, light was streaming in through the window that was fixed on the wall opposite the bed, and it occurred to him that tonight he wouldn't be sleeping in his own bed, but on Reaver's ship.

"Ah, bloody hell," he mumbled, turning onto his side to burrow his head in his pillows. "Why – _why_ did I agree? Would have been better to steal a ruddy ship than ask him…"

Though the pillows largely muffled his voice, it soothed his feelings of exasperation to speak out loud.

Alas, when Tristan awoke and started crying, Darius was forced to leave the comfort of his bed. By midday, they were all well-fed, dressed and prepared to leave for Bowerstone. He had not visited Page and Walter for two days, and he was adamant that he should talk with them before setting off with Ben for Bloodstone.

He had clothed himself in a Highwayman suit – dyed green and grey – and was wearing the mask from his previous ballroom attire. Having brought it some weeks ago, Darius hadn't yet had a chance to try it on; but since he didn't want any of the rebels in Bloodstone recognising him, he figured that now more than ever would be the perfect time. Regardless, he reckoned that the Highwaymen outfit, particularly the trousers, looked rather dashing on him; and, coupled with having put on the renegade make-up beneath his mask, Reaver and his men would hopefully think twice before choosing to mess with him.

However, his arrival at the Headquarters' was less orderly than originally planned. Whilst Rylin limped over to the bed he had occupied previously, since his wounds had not yet wholly recovered and his fur still seemed malformed, Darius was left to occupy Tristan until the afternoon, watching him in case his son snatched up a gun or sword to play with.

Walter, even with his recovering leg, was too busy training Page's men to speak with him; and Page was seemingly muttering away about strategies in the War Room with Kidd.

Further, when Darius asked after Ben's whereabouts, Page directed his attention over to the bed, the one which Walter had formerly been lying on, only for him to find that it was now occupied by Ben Finn sleeping away upon it.

"He spent last night at the local Inn, no doubt," muttered Page, scowling as she returned her gaze onto Darius. "After discussing tactics the whole day, he said something about needing a drink and waltzed out. I had a small search party sent out after him, but what with all the guards looking for our base, I couldn't very well do much more.

She snorted, and cast a venomous glance at the seemingly sleeping soldier. "Besides, I refuse to have my men risking their lives over one stupid soldier…and he came back this morning anyway, said he was half-drunk, and then just collapsed on the bed."

"You've checked him over, I take it?" asked Darius, as he jostled his son up on his hip. It was easier to simply carry Tristan sometimes than to let him wander about.

She nodded. "He's not been poisoned, wounded or anything. He's just very drunk, the idiot."

"Oi – I heard that," Ben moaned, half-groaning.

Page snorted. "It's about time you woke up!"

"Don't nag, Page," he murmured, sitting up. He raised a hand to his forehead, sweeping away the noticeable sweat, and said, "God – what did I drink last night?"

"Far too much, apparently," said Page. "Do you even remember what you did?"

"I remember leaving here and entering Riverside Riveter's Inn, but…it's hazy after that," Ben explained slowly. "This morning, I can only remember someone tossing me out the Inn, which hurt a lot just by the way."

"What about when you stumbled back here?"

"I remember…I remember speaking to one of your men on the way in, Jeremy I think, and then seeing you," he murmured, before then groaning in frustration. "But it kind of all blacks out – everything! The conversations, movements of people…I can only remember faces."

She hummed, seemingly in disappoint. "That's what I feared. Maybe you shouldn't be going on this journey, if you can't control your drink?"

"I'm fine!" Ben insisted, bringing himself up to stand on his feet. "Want me to prance about in a straight line for you, or just say the alphabet backwards? Either one is fine with me."

"Shut up, Ben," murmured Walter, shaking his head as he entered the room. "But he's right, Page. He's up and about now, and it'll be a few days till they reach Bloodstone's port. He'll be ready on arrival – they both will be," he added, his gaze fixating on Darius.

The day passed on without much hassle after that morning, although Page's stern look never faulted when her eyes fell upon Ben. Walter had let it go after a mere hour, after Ben opted to help out with firing practice, but Page seemed determined to remain furious with him.

Fortunately, Elise arrived mid-afternoon and was able to take Tristan to her house with her fiancée, so that Darius could then check his weaponry equipment without worrying about his son. By then, Ben was also fully awake and dressed in his ordinary clothes.

But after they had bid their farewells to Walter, Page, and the rest of her men, and Darius also to Rylin, seeing as midnight was drawing closer, Darius and Ben took to wandering along the docks, waiting for Reaver. Ben was carrying a bag on his back, whereas Darius had opted to take nothing but the clothes on his back, since he could easily Will himself to his wardrobe inside the Sanctuary.

"Did you really get drunk last night?" asked Darius, smiling at the corner of his lips. The question was more out of a want to converse with someone (for he and Ben had walked in silence to the docks) and Darius was already nervous with the idea of meeting Reaver again.

"Yes, I did," sighed Ben. "But I'm not proud of it. It's just…with old Swifty being gone, and not being able to join back up with the guard, since Logan's hunting us all – look, I just don't want to talk about it, all right? Just forget that this morning ever happened."

"All right," murmured Darius. "I won't ask again."

"Good. And I still don't trust Reaver…I don't like that we're headed for Bloodstone, either," he said. "That town's filled with nothing but pirates and whores."

"Well, now I really must digress," called a familiar voice, "I find Bloodstone a rather pleasant little town to spend one's time in."

It was Reaver – Darius was almost sure of that the voice belonged to him.

There were footsteps walking towards them. Moments of apprehension passed by (Darius' hand moved cautiously to his Black Dragon pistol at his side), until Reaver appeared from the shadows.

Clothed in a more roguish outfit than his usual attire, he was adorned in a dyed pair of red breeches, a jacket without sleeves, and a seemingly ordinary brown shirt beneath it, if judging by the long sleeves alone that covered his arms. He also bore a matching pair of brown buckled gloves and tied-up boots. Indeed, perhaps the only extravagant belongings he bore on him was the cravat fixated around his neck, dyed yellow (a queer choice, Darius believed) and lying neatly atop his jacket, and the infamous pistol that lay sheathed at his hip.

Darius also noted how Reaver had neglected to adorn his white top hat (or any hat at all), the goggles, his notorious cane, and was now, although the lack of lack could have just supposed it a mere shadow, even sporting a slight stubble, indicating that he hadn't shaved recently.

For a moment, Darius, likely caused by a combination of sheer surprise and desire, allowed his lips to fall agape, before he then forcibly turned his head to Ben beside him. The soldier's suspicious gaze, narrowed and with his arms folded, reminded him instantly that Reaver wasn't to be trusted.

Theresa had warned him about Reaver, and he most certainly wasn't about to accept this Hero's words or actions without some careful forethought.

"You're here to abide by our deal, then," greeted Darius, returning his gaze guardedly onto Reaver. "And here I was thinking that you might try to sell me out to Logan again."

One of Reaver's eyebrows rose, and his lips crinkled up to form a grin.

"Alas, it would appear that you are simply impossible to catch as of late," he said with an alluring wink, causing Darius to raise his own eyebrows in disbelief. "Besides which, I have always followed through with my deals. I find it particularly…unsporting, shall we say, when one party does not give as much as the other. The deal is otherwise unsatisfying, to say the least."

Ben snorted. "So, where is this ship then, Reaver? The one we're to presume that you're taking us to Bloodstone on?"

"Ah, yes, if you will follow me, gentleman."

They journeyed along the docks until they came to an aisle that Darius and Ben had passed by many a few times during their time spent waiting. But as Darius inspected the ship closer, he wondered how much wealth Reaver truly possessed, for it was a large vessel – and likely one of the largest currently docked at Bowerstone's harbour.

"Now, before we take voyage, you will both require new identities," said Reaver, smirking as he then made to stop them by the ship's boarding ramp. "Why, just think of yourselves as role-playing whilst you are aboard my vessel…"

"I already know what your games are like, Reaver," muttered Darius, referring back to the Wheel inside his Manor, "and they're not as fun as you think they are."

"And yet you played along, my courageous young Prince, and quite spectacularly might I say," insisted Reaver. "Surely, you could have shot me at any given moment, instead of dashing in and out of all my lovely rooms."

"Maybe, but then you could have just as well as come down from your balcony rather than let loose that circus of yours on Page and I," he retorted.

Reaver chortled. "And what fun would that have been?"

Darius snorted, and he glared viciously at the infamous tycoon standing before him. _God, how I wish I could just shoot him._ He willed himself not to reach for the Black Dragon pistol at his hip.

"Yeah, guys," said Ben, rubbing his neck, "I think I'll just go along and use one of my dead brother's names. James' will do."

Darius' eyebrows drew up, faintly surprised. _Since when did he become so damn morbid? Ah, crap. Of course he's morbid – practically his only father figure left, Major Swift, just died!_

"Very simple a choice, James," remarked Reaver coldly, rolling his eyes. "And what shall be yours, my daring Prince?"

"Gunslinger," Darius directly answered, thinking back to an old script he had once read in the castle.

"Archaic, dangerous, and a name that implies your gun-skills are most illustrious," remarked Reaver, "…although, whether you will live _up_ to such a name, that remains to be seen."

Ironically, whilst the title 'Gunslinger' had been born by many a Hero, many of them died by a gunshot. However, it was acclaimed that no man or woman had ever matched the founder's abilities, for the man – and no one knew if he was a Hero or not – could allegedly shoot a gun whilst passing it from hand to hand, which had caused the people of Albion to know of him only by this infamous ability.

"Saved your arse against those assassins, didn't I?" Darius muttered, although not so discreetly under his breath.

Reaver's chortling was the only reply Darius received.

"We're ready to set sail, Master Reaver, just give the word!" called one of Reaver's crewmen, coming into view as he leaned over the side of the ship.

"Then all abroad _The Reaver_, gentleman, and mind how you step," laughed Reaver. Darius shrugged in Ben's direction and began following Reaver up the boarding ramp. "Ah, _The Reaver__ – a spine-tingling name, is it not?_ When I first purchased this glorious vessel, I had sought out to name it _the Narcissus_, but alas, another ship was named it and two ships cannot be registered under the same name. Quite the disappointment it was, I assure you, and yet I've now come to think of the name as rather fetching…"

"Arrogant bastard," Ben murmured from behind Darius.

Darius snorted silently in agreement. _Is he really that vain?_ But however deep Reaver's vanity went, Darius was finding it admittedly difficult not to appreciate how muscular his legs seemed from behind, as they ventured up the last quarter of the ramp.

"Gather round, my hard-working ruffians," Reaver called once stepping on-board the ship. "Promptly now…I simply must have you all meet my companions before we make sail for the open sea."

Darius stepped up onto the ship. It was a large vessel, the main sail towered over the crew standing below it, the deck was built with numerous cannons and held reputable workmanship, and Darius, with no doubt, believed that the hull was just as finely built. Reaver likely wouldn't have had anything less.

"The companion I should first like to introduce you to is Gunslinger here," said Reaver, waving a hand over to Darius. "I shall only declare to you that he is a most infamous cad; many hearts have swooned, and many have been equally shot. Of course, he is not nearly as experienced as I, myself, but all of you simpletons would do well to remember to duck should he sling out his deadly gun."

Darius raised an eyebrow at Reaver for the surprising introduction, and yet several crewmen stepped wearily back, perhaps taking the purpose behind his movement wrongly. One man even shifted enough to hide behind another.

"And this poorly attired thug is none other than the notorious Cut-throat James," said Reaver, smirking still as his crewmen cast anxious eyes over Ben, who was standing quite impatiently on Darius' right. "Indeed, he is perhaps most renowned for his beer swigging in Bowerstone's Inns, for, when a barkeep has tried to cut him off, he has made sure to cut their throat."

Ben's eyes drew over to glare at Reaver, no doubt for his fabricated storytelling.

"Thus, I am sure you will treat these fine gentlemen with as much respect and _attention_ to their needs as you would perform for me," he said, passing an undoubtedly dazzling wink towards the crewmen.

"But now we come to the end of our little talk. It is late, and I have grown weary of being in such close vicinity to Bowerstone." He sighed carelessly, and continued, "Thus, should I perchance spot any man not working towards getting us out on to the open sea within the next three seconds, he shall be shot."

Ben's eyebrows literally flew up, despite how Darius had to squint to see them do so. But, even with the night shrouding his line of sight, he could clearly see Reaver unsheathing his pistol – especially so since he was standing not a few inches from his side – and making to cock his fingers in the trigger.

"One…" he murmured, with a devilish smirk.

Men scattered, running to take any vacant position. Most were making for the door a few feet behind them, which would likely lead them below deck; others made to seize nearby buckets to scrub the deck; and two were even climbing up to the mast.

"Two…"

Reaver twisted his arm to aim right and fired, hitting a man that was decidedly too slow in his choosing to make for a bucket.

"Three," Reaver murmured, shrugging indifferently as he sheathed his gun.

The crewmen were certainly working now. The main sail lowered, the anchor raised, and Reaver bid Ben and he to follow him up the stairs to the ship's wheel. A man was standing there, steering the wheel with a seemingly firm grip as the ship sailed out of port.

"Make for Bloodstone, Navigator Reginald," said Reaver, making to lean over the rail to view the sea. "My companions and I have business there."

"Aye, Master Reaver," he said.

Reaver hummed his reply, leaned back and turned to face Darius and Ben. _He looks good in red_, Darius thought unwittingly. Reaver strode slowly over to them, since they had ventured to look over the back-end of the ship – to watch as Bowerstone's port become shrouded by the night's darkness.

"You are both welcome to venture about my ship, though I ask that you do not _disturb_ my crewmen too much," he informed, and Darius noted that he was still smirking unashamedly. "You will also find that your quarters are below deck, whilst mine are on deck - the Captain's quarters, no less."

Ben nodded. "Right, Reaver…thanks. I think I might just take you up on that, in heading below deck. It's been a long day and, well…I didn't really get so much sleep this morning, eh," he muttered, albeit with a small smile directed at Darius, before he then made to walk down the stairs onto the main deck.

Darius sighed and made to follow him, but Reaver seized his left arm. Darius' gaze shot up, glaring, and Reaver stepped towards him, enclosing in within his personal space.

"Should you require a more suitable bed to rest your head upon, my fellow _Gunslinger_," he whispered, standing so close that his low breathy words were teasing – tingling – his earlobe and neck, "you need only ask to share my quarters."

"I think below deck will suit me fine, Reaver," he murmured, cursing at how his voice sounded husky (inflicted likely by a combination of a dry throat and breathlessness, both of which were likely caused by Reaver), "…or should that be Master Reaver? Because you should know, I won't ever call you _that_."

"Call me whatever you desire," he murmured softly, his darkening blue eyes moving from his neck and lips to gaze downwards. "But pray tell me, that tattoo settled so handsomely upon your chest, it was not there that night in which your soldier companions and myself made a daring rescue after your person beneath the Market's Inn. Per chance, when did you acquire such a roguish decoration?"

Darius glanced down. The top two buttons of his personal favourite, prince-styled shirt, which he had left undone purely for comfort, had revealed a part of the tattoo that he had gotten whilst visiting the mercenary camp.

He cleared his throat, and gazed up to Reaver's eyes to answer, but the crinkled black heart (for Reaver was smirking quite devilishly again) resting on his left check distracted him from his thoughts.

"I'll tell you, but only if you'll tell me why you have a heart on your cheek," he murmured thoughtfully, noting how his own lips were crawling up into a curiously small smirk. "It doesn't look like a tattoo, so I take you draw it on, yes?"

Reaver stepped back, albeit only once, but it was enough to put a few inches of distance between them. Darius was thankful for the movement; if anyone – especially Ben – were to look at them now, their positions could not be called into question.

"You are correct. I do, in fact, drawn it on," he acknowledged, despite retaining that smirk on his lips. "Nevertheless, a heart is much more gorgeous design to adorn than those poorly drawn, green smudges that you are adorning now beneath that mask. Surely, although it is a bold look, you can hardly call it attractive?"

"It's renegade make-up actually, Reaver, and I wasn't going for an attractive look. I purchased it whilst visiting a mercenary camp in Mistpeak, and I was going for a daring look," he replied. "That was also where I acquired this tattoo…it's in the shape of a heart."

"An intriguing tale, but nonetheless, a heart on a chest is rather a cliché creation," remarked Reaver, his fingers grazing over Darius' shirt – not once touching his skin, and yet his chest still burnt from wanton heat. Reaver let his hand fall beside him; and Darius looked up to see that he was no longer smirking.

"But I suppose there is some significant meaning behind it…some lost love, perhaps?" Reaver asked, with a curious eyebrow raised.

Darius' thoughts ran back to his first wife, Jennifer, whom he had shot in the heart. Was she the reason he had gotten the tattoo? It hadn't meant anything more than a simple spur of the moment action at the time, but could it have meant something more?

"No, Reaver, there's no real reason," he said, shrugging. _Even if it did signify something, I'm sure as hell not telling you._ "But why are you so interested in tattoos and make-up? I mean, I'm sure that you similarly don't possess a reason behind that heart which you draw so flawlessly on your cheek."

"You guess correctly once again, Gunslinger."

Reaver stepped forward, and their chests pressed together once more. His head turned and leaned down to Darius' neck, leaving his startling blue eyes almost out of view.

"Step away, Reaver," Darius growled against his neck (for Reaver was surprisingly a head taller than him, a feat not many people held). "I'd rather Ben not think me wanton for you, and your men will certainly think otherwise if you stay this close…"

Reaver was still gripping his left arm. His grip had lessened earlier, but now it would likely cause a bruise. It was a strong hold, and Darius similarly hated and desired the man for it.

"Your companion has since been below deck – he looked back only once, but likely thought we were conversing over my little display with the crew earlier," murmured Reaver, sounding oddly amused at the notion.

"But the crewmen –"

"Do you truly believe that they would dare to question me?" he seethed. Darius could not see his lips; his chest and neck were in view, but his lips were practically pressed against his neck. "I could shoot every one of those poor simpletons, or have likely anyone in my bed, and yet they abide by my wishes. They are pathetic fools…any yet you, you I have yet to decipher."

Reaver kissed his neck, gently and yet undoubtedly. Darius' mouth went agape and his eyes closed, as the pressure of Reaver's lips remained there for a few moments, before he then proceeded to blow softly over the spot.

Darius' eyes flew open, and he gasped. "What -?"

Reaver stepped back, releasing his hold on Darius' arm. Darius stepped back, but his legs hit the ship's wooden railing. They were out at sea now – he hadn't anywhere to run.

"Do feel free to roam about my ship, Gunslinger," said Reaver, in his amused tone of voice. "Though I would beware of dark corners, were I you."

Reaver bid Reginald goodnight and left for his quarters. Darius' heart was beating wildly; he was only thankful that Reaver had walked over to Ben and him previously, giving them some distance from the old man at the wheel. Hopefully, Navigator Reginald hadn't heard anything significant.

Darius sighed, and turned around to lean over the ship's railing. He nervously ran a hand through his brunette hair and looked out to sea. For the most part, he could only see darkness, but the sound and smell of the waves was at least a small comfort to him.

"I know it's not my place," muttered Reginald over from beside the wheel, catching Darius unaware, "but you'd do well to stay away from him, Master Gunslinger. 'Tis not wise to become involved with the Pirate King."

Darius frowned, and turned to face the old Navigator.

"The Pirate King?" he asked, astounded to hear that even such a title existed.

"Aye, but I'll say no more on it," said Reginald. "I'll not risk him taking my 'ead for saying something I shouldn't."

Darius ran a hand once more through his hair. _What have I gotten myself into now? Reaver – a pirate? _Darius spent the following half-hour listening to the sounds of the waves, despite how the darkness obscured most of his sight, before he decidedly made to go below deck to seek out a hammock near Ben, who was already sleeping in one when Darius found him.

He found a few around Ben left unoccupied, likely because the crewmen were still fearful of them after Reaver's daunting introductions. He took off his mask and washed away the make-up, using a basin of water nearby. He draped his green highwayman coat over the end of the hammock and placed his boots underneath it, and grunted as he, himself, climbed on to the hammock.

Sleep did not come easy to him that night. He laid there, with the hammock swinging with every twitch he made and listening to the snores of some sleeping crewmen. No matter that he continuously raged at himself for it, his thoughts kept drifting back to Reaver – and that kiss on his neck. It was no more than a delicate press, a simple peck, and yet it sent numerous shivers down his spine.

Quite obstinately, with a half-hardened cock and wishful thoughts running through his mind, Darius closed his eyes and drifted off into a restless slumber.


	8. Kiss, Kiss, Bang, Bang

**Warnings**: Please be aware that this fan-fiction will contain profanities, sexual content, many bloody battles, some character deaths (although no one that the Fables series hadn't already killed off!), and an overly obsessive usage of semi-colons and 'big' words.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of the Fable series. This piece of fiction is being written for merely entertainment purposes.

Rated: **M!**

A/N: Hey guys, this chap is now up! But in case anyone is wondering why Darius doesn't just simply _will_ himself over to Bloodstone, it's because – like in the Fable games, where you first have to seek out the place – he doesn't actually know where it is and might get it wrong. In addition, the Sanctuary's map required a portal to first assist the Hero in getting to the Dweller camp and Bloodstone (surprisingly) hasn't one. Anyway, Walter led the Hero everywhere in III; thus, Reaver is now leading him to Bloodstone  
Also, I lost inspiration for a bit, but this chap was admittedly influenced by the song 'Hurricane' from 30 Seconds to Mars. I can assure people I shan't be giving up on this story (I love it too much), but there might be times when it'll take about two-three weeks to put up a new chapter. But as always, happy reading  
ps. Edited on 21/9/13: changed the title, some details near the end, and checked for any spelling mistakes; and I'm also almost embarassed over how many checks I've done on this chapter. But then it is over my usual word limit :/ Meh, oh well.

_Summary: A few days latter to having rescued Page's men from Reaver's Manor, Darius wakes to find himself and his faithful dog, Rylin, stuck in a cell. It seems like the past always manages to catch up with him. But when an unknown organisation from Bloodstone is bent on killing Heroes and the nobility, the revolution takes on an unexpected turn in its tale. Fable III: Reaver/Prince._

**_A Light To Rival The Darkness_**

**Chapter Eight: Kiss, Kiss, Bang, Bang**  
Darius couldn't see. He was standing on a carpet, that much he knew from the feel of the soft flooring beneath his feet, but his arms were covering his eyes and he couldn't move them, despite how much he struggled. His vision remained clouded by darkness, and Darius was anxious, for there were voices calling out for help all around him.

"No – please sir, I have a family to care for!" came a woman's cry.

"I've a son, myself," said another voice. "Let me return to 'im, I beg of you."

"You must choose, brother," ordered Logan (for Darius distinctly knew his brother's voice). "Their lives, or your friend's…and if you will not choose, I shall be the one to decide their fate."

Darius was helpless. As much as he tensed his muscles, struggled and cursed and groaned with anger, he could not move his arms away from his eyes. But he could speak, he realised, if he focused solely on speaking.

"Logan…Logan you can't do this," he murmured, pleading his brother. "You can't make me choose again…"

He couldn't see anyone. However, he could hear the people crying and whimpering amongst themselves, and Logan's cold-hearted snort above their voices.

"You're no longer a child," called Logan. "I shall you give you until the count of five, otherwise they shall all die."

"No!" Darius shouted, shaking his head.

"One…"

Darius continued to shake his head in disbelief.

"Two..." called Logan, his words echoing all the more fiercely around him.

"Logan, please – you can't do this. Not again," Darius whispered, in a tone far angrier than he believed of himself, "I can't let you do this again!"

"Three…"

Darius' right arm flew to his side and he drew out a pistol from his holster – one that he hadn't known he'd been carrying. His mind was barely registering anything but his loathing hatred for Logan.

"Four…"

His left arm drew up further to cover both his eyes, and the gun aimed to point ahead of him.

"Five – you have sealed their fate, brother," seethed Logan. "Guards, kill them all."

"NO!" Darius shouted.

Gunfire rang through his eardrums. Unwittingly, he brought his arm away from his eyes and opened them slowly; he thought it strange how he couldn't before, but the thought lingered only for a moment, for he soon realised (on gazing down at his smoking gun) that it was he who had fired the shot.

Fortunately, he hadn't caught anyone, or at least he hoped he hadn't. He was alone, and the silence continued on. The lit torches, fixated against the throne room's walls, were the source of light, and Darius swallowed fearfully.

He could see; there was no darkness surrounding him now! But he also realised that he was back inside the castle, standing in the throne room, and that neither Logan nor any of the protestors were in the room. _Was I imagining Logan being here just now? Gods, how did I even get here?_

"You promised, lad," came an eerie, yet all-too familiar voice from behind him.

Darius turned his body around and lifted his gaze to see Major Swift, his face pale and eyes rimmed with red and black, enter the throne room. He had a chest wound that was bleeding out through his military uniform, and he was evidently limping.

"You promised to restore the Army," he continued. "You promised me, lad."

"I know. I will restore the old Army, I promise," Darius hastily assured; and swallowing, he added mournfully, "…and I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

A cold chuckling caught Darius' mind, and he drew his eyes away from the Major, turning again, to see Logan sitting upon his throne.

"But you could have saved the protestors outside these walls," he called. "After all, you are no longer a child, brother."

"Stop saying that I'm no longer a child! I know I'm not a child, and I've tried to help –"

"Did you try to help me?"

This man's voice was also familiar, and Darius could hear his footsteps as well. Alex, his son's last nanny, limped into the room, with his hands clutching his at his stomach. Morbidly, Darius recalled how the removal men – at an extra fee – had helped him carry the old man's body to the Orphanage, where the workers there had then proceeded to bury him outside. Under their records, Alex had apparently had no family left to mourn or bury him.

It had been a hefty task to ensure that he was returned and buried properly, and, although Darius had only known Alex for no more than a week, he knew it was partially his fault that the assassins had murdered the old man.

"See how much death you cause, brother," Logan called from his throne. "See how the masses despise you – you, who are no more fit to rule than I."

Men and women – mercenaries, villagers, highwaymen and the like – began congregating through the door in two lines, walking with expressionless faces and all bearing some wound or another.

His wife from nearly two years ago now, Jennifer of the Dweller camp, was among the first to walk into the room. She seemed not a day older than when he had seen her last, with Darius noting her pink-coloured skin, long brown hair, and hide clothing. But there was a hole in her coat. It was no more than bullet-sized; and yet blood oozed out from the wound as she walked to stand inline with the others, dripping on to the floor, and her face was abnormally inattentive to the fatal wound she bore.

But Darius wasn't overcome with love at seeing her – instead, he felt anger and frustration. It was over a year since he had buried her. They hadn't even been on the friendliest of terms before her death, and to have her return when he had changed so much? Yet he did feel some spark of sympathy for her, though he despised himself for it. _She's dead now, he berated himself. But why does she look so unfeeling? Why am I even here, of all places?_

Darius redirected his gaze on to the others who were walking, crawling, and limping into the room. He knew some of them, most of whom he had killed at some point since leaving the castle, but others he could have sworn he had never seen in his life. There was a sickly looking woman and a half-starved child standing near three of the many mercenaries he had killed during his time completing Saber's tasks, and he simply couldn't place them.

His second wife, Victoria of Brightwall, stepped into the room, sporting many a bullet wound and a few bruises on her face. Her voluminous blonde hair was stained with red, her green dress crumpled and ripped and filthy at the edges, and yet still her face resembled Jennifer's indifferent expression.

He felt a sense of growing irritation and anger against them both: Jennifer, for not having been capable of handling herself against the mercenaries, of whom he could now not even remember their faces, and Victoria, for cheating on him deliberately with the blacksmith and mistreating their son, Tristan.

But Darius' gaze was drawn from them, as he spotted Reaver entering the room. Holding a pistol and dressed in his usual clean, white attire, the man looked and devious as ever. Only his black goggles, which were covering his usually gleeful, blue eyes from view, gave him a different impression, for they made his callous smirk seem more maniacal than ever.

"Ah, what a riveting sight to see," he applauded, in an almost joyful tone with his arms outstretched, "...so many deaths accomplished in so little a time."

"Most of these people were evil," retorted Darius, needing to defend his past actions.

Reaver chortled. "And you are not evil, my Prince?"

Logan brought up a hand to silence them.

"Kill him, Reaver – kill my traitorous brother," he ordered.

Reaver's eyes seemed to gleam as they passed from Logan on to him. He drew his gun and took aim.

Logan chuckled. "A life for a life, a heart for a heart," his voice echoed about the room.

Reaver fired his pistol. The bullet flew through the air and pierced his chest, sinking agonizingly into his heart, and Darius' eyes closed and he threw his hands to his chest. He fell to his knees, scraping them against the floor of the throne room. He opened his mouth and let out a scream – so long and hard that he could hear his voice echoing.

His eyes flew open, his mouth already agape. His raised himself quickly by his elbows so that he was sitting, and he instantly knew that he was not in his bed at his Millfields' Manor, for not only was his panting breaths causing the hammock to shift, but it was also far colder than his house and there was the sound of muffled voices speaking somewhere around him.

"Nightmare, was it?" a voice tentatively asked.

Darius turned his head to look over the side of his hammock, and was greeted by the sight of Ben Finn pulling a clean shirt out from the bag he had carried onboard the ship and shoving it over his head.

"Yeah, it was," he murmured, his voice unsurprisingly low and hoarse.

Darius lifted a hand to his shirt-covered chest, searching for a wound or hole from where Reaver had shot him. He reassured himself that it was only a dream, but he could not forget Reaver's smirking expression as he'd pulled the trigger. _Does he enjoy killing people – in reality? Would he enjoy killing me?_

He leapt down onto the damp floorboards and grabbed his highwaymen boots to pull them on, disliking instantly the cold, hard wooden floorboards beneath his feet.

Darius coughed, needing to clear his dry throat. The dream might as well have been real, for his throat was sore enough to have screamed for an age.

He sighed. "Why are you up so early?" Darius asked, desiring a change of subject.

Ben glanced over at him, his look concerned and pitiful. "You were muttering in your sleep and I couldn't wake you," he murmured, as he straightened out his shirt. "You scared about half the crewmen away, so I really didn't know what to do. Reaver didn't hear it, being up his own quarters and all, but I reckon he'll catch on soon enough from the crew. I mean…you didn't stop your mumbling till after a few minutes."

"I'm fine…really, I don't remember much of it," he lied.

Ben looked like he didn't believe him, but he shrugged nevertheless. "If you say so. But it's best you're up now, anyway. I wouldn't put it past Reaver not to slit our throats whilst we're sleeping," he replied.

"No…I doubt he'd do that. Reaver would rather gun us down – more dramatic that way," spat Darius, recoiling at the viciousness of Reaver's appearance in the dream. He mentally shook the memory away, "In any case, he needs me to deliver something. He won't try and kill us until after I've accomplished that for him."

"Well that's most thoughtful of him," Ben scoffed, snorting. "And what was it that he wanted delivered again?"

"Like I said, just some old relic. He said his associates in Wraithmarsh made a deal with him, one that he can't get out of apparently, so he has to give them something every so often as part of their arrangement."

"I don't know…this whole scheme smells fishy to me, and not just because we're out at sea," warned Ben, his tone sounding anxious despite Ben smiling at his own 'fish' joke. "I mean, I can hardly think of why anyone would want to live out in Wraithmarsh – the place is practically swamped to the brim with sirens, trolls and hollowmen."

Darius shrugged. "I don't have to do anything until we've sorted out those rebels. We can focus on Reaver's relic and what he wants done with it after that."

The only problem was that Darius was already focusing too much on Reaver's ulterior motives. He was hiding something about his end of the deal, and if what Ben said was true of Wraithmarsh, then Darius knew he'd have to tread carefully if he was going to find anything out about this supposed artifact.

Not to mention how Reaver had acted last night. Darius shivered; he could still remember Reaver's breath on his neck, warm and heavy against the icy-cold sea air.

He shook his head, and moved over to the nearest washbasin, drenching his face with water.

"Well, I'll let you get ready," said Ben, making his way over to the ladder that led up to the top deck. "But don't take too long, all right? I said before we left that I'd teach you something about sailing, and I intend just to do that."

Ben climbed the stairs and departed from the room.

Slipping the ballroom mask back on, and observing that only a few sleeping men were still present in the room, Darius willed himself to the Sanctuary, intending to grab his green highwayman coat (for already the soggy, cold sea air was seeping into his skin), which adorned an attachable cravat and long white sleeves, and further redo his renegade make-up. If Reaver insisted on portraying him as a cad, then the least he could do was look the part.

Nonetheless, Ben and he spent the first day abroad the vessel mostly scouring about Reaver's vessel, although they did occasionally assist the crew in their duties. In particular, although cleaning the cannons was like a dreary task to Darius, Ben's explanation on their rapid-firing rate proved interesting.

Darius felt himself also silently pleased that Reaver neglected to speak with them during the first few days aboard the ship. The man spent the better half of his days beside the helm, directing Reginald and ordering the crew about. If nothing else, it was evidently clear that Reaver ran a tight ship; and yet, twice, Darius could have sworn Reaver's eyes had lingered upon him, as if he were a horde of gold so easily pillaged.

The uncertainty of his motives – what Reaver wanted from him – it was starting to drive him mad. Or mayhap, he was driving himself mad. With all the rebels' threats and that nightmare last night, Darius felt terribly weary about having to wait until they landed at Bloodstone's port. He didn't even know how the numbers this organisation had, or if they already knew he was coming to Bloodstone to seek them out. There were far too many variables for him to consider, and Reaver's unpredictability was one of the utmost things on his mind.

Nevertheless, Reaver caught him unaware on the third day, for, whilst Ben and he'd been both invited to spend the evening on the top deck, drinking with the crew, it was made undeniably obvious that many members of the crew were still edgy around Darius. But he was content to leave Ben drinking with the men; he deserved some happiness, particularly since the memory of Major Swift's execution was likely still fresh in the soldier's mind.

Darius didn't mind so much about the crew's continued uneasiness around him; only a brave few – the Navigator Reginald, a middle-aged woman called Terrie, and the ship's cook – had attempted to make conversation with him since he'd been aboard. Even before he left the crew to their drinking, none had attempted to converse with him. But at it already was, his thoughts were running ramped, and he highly doubted that consuming a tone of alcohol would rid himself of them.

"So –" came Reaver's voice, "the notorious Gunslinger chooses to prowl about in my hull."

Darius slammed the lid of a crate shut and looked up. Reaver was leaning casually against a wooden post, dressed in his – and likely dyed – red and black highwayman attire. His hair seemed traitorously wind-struck, with curled strands lying about his neck and forehead.

"Enlighten me," Reaver continued with a wiry smirk, to match his roguish appearance, "what does the infamous Gunslinger think of my beloved vessel?"

"Actually, this is my first time aboard a ship," Darius answered, if a little wearily, "so I suppose I can't really give you an opinion."

Reaver hummed, and he moved slowly towards the crate beside Darius.

"You're inexperience on vessels is most _surprising_, my Prince," he murmured, in his usual sensual tone.

Darius' brow narrowed irritably. "I thought we agreed on addressing each by our false names, seeing as I've been practically exiled from the palace and my brother wants me dead." His grip on the crate lessened, and he brought his hands to his sides. "So just tell me, why you're really down here, Reaver? What do you want?"

"Ah, ah, one mustn't be so quick to cut to the chase," he tutted, causing Darius to snort. Reaver huffed, and moved around the crate to face him, "But I can see that you are not one for subtlety and intrigue, so I shall speak plainly. When this vessel touches upon Bloodstone's pleasant shores, you and your little soldier companion will neither attempt to change my city nor rise against any decisions that I may choose to endorse during your short stay."

"I won't let you get away with just anything, Reaver – you have to know that," Darius warned, his eyes challenging him to argue.

Reaver simply raised an eyebrow. "You will not have a choice, _Gunslinger_. Bloodstone shall always belong to me, and you will not interfere with my businesses there. Furthermore, when you go to seek out these dastardly naughty rebels, I shall be accompanying you - that you also do not have a decision in."

"Those are a lot of demands," he murmured, folding his arms. "What'll you give me in return?"

"I have already given you much, perhaps too much, I daresay," said Reaver, dismissing him with a wave of a hand. "Indeed, you should appreciate that I have not included your companions' headquarters into this little arrangement. Were the King to discover that I have assisted a traitor, and no less his rebellious little sibling…well, let me make it plain that I am not in the habit of being shot, particularly in the manner as your gallant Major was."

Darius swallowed. Swift's broken form from his dream last night flashed before his mind, and his hands curled into fists.

"You know how Swift was murdered, then?"

"Oh, was that his name: Swift? A rather…queer name, isn't it," he murmured, humming lightly. "But to answer your question, Prince, yes, I do know how he was murdered. Or I should, when you consider how I was, in fact, the ingenious man behind the arrangement of that particular event hosted by the King. I take it you heard of it, then?"

"Heard of it?" Darius raged, waving his fists in the air dramatically. "I bloody saw it – Ben and I snuck into the castle grounds to watch. But all this time, I thought it was just Logan, when you actually played a part in it as well!"

A seething rage built up in his mind. Darius' hands clenched to the point that his knuckles turned white, and his eyebrows narrowed more so through his fury.

Reaver huffed. "Yes, I dare say I did play a small part. But I can assure you, _Gunslinger_," he growled, emphasising the name Darius bore whilst aboard his ship, "that your brother would've had your gallant Major Swift killed no matter who attempted to persuade him otherwise. If not for my intrepid, swaying arguments to grant him a clean, public execution, your darling Major would've likely been presented with a fool's death, privately drowned in a batch of wine or, perhaps, even put to the chopping board. Why, you should be thankful that I even bothered to intervene on the King's behalf, for a public execution helped your cause as well as his."

"How could murdering Major Swift help ours?"

Reaver sighed, seemingly out of boredom from having to explain. "By openly executing the Major, all of Albion would now recognise their King as an unjust ruler; and yet, equally, the King also demonstrated his power over the law." Reaver's gaze turned serious, his eyes narrowing angrily, "Merely understand this, my sweet, ignorant Darius, that nothing in Albion could have saved your precious Major, for his death was signed when he foolishly requested the aid of his old comrades, of whom most, as it turned out, had already committed their allegiances to the King."

He smirked, "Likewise, I am not one to forfeit my life for _foolish_ traitors."

"Why take the risk, then, in bringing me here?" Darius demanded instantly, still unsatisfied. "I'm concerned about your motives, Reaver – what are you getting out of this by helping me? After all, I'm nothing less than a traitor as well."

"Ah, and yet you remain a Prince by blood," he reminded critically, tutting his finger at Darius. "Our King Logan was foolish to keep you out of his sight, allowing you – from what I have heard from my fearless noble contacts – to craftily escape the castle in the dead of night."

Reaver stepped forwards, with a confident look held in his eyes and his hand sliding across the crate's surface.

"Alas," he whispered, in a low voice, "you see, my motives are solely selfish. My motive – indeed, my hope – is to gain your favour and assist your rise to power, but should your little…_endeavours_ backfire, I will but simply plead my case to our King that I was acting undercover, so as to discover the whereabouts of the resistance's base. Either way, though, I shall endeavour to retain my industries."

"Playing both the sides, then, are we?" Darius sneered.

"Are you not, as well?" Reaver questioned, with a seductive, almost cruel smirk. "Tell me, how far will you go to place your delectable rear upon the throne, Gunslinger? How many men will you kill? Will you give up your son?"

Darius seized Reaver's pale yellow cravat with a fist, pulling the man forcibly towards him.

"I will never – _never_ – forfeit my son, Reaver," he seethed.

Reaver groaned deeply, his throat rumbled against Darius' knuckles and unsettled him by the softness of his skin. Nevertheless, Darius felt gratified to know that Reaver was likely not feeling so smug now.

"Then you possess a weakness in your shield, Prince," said Reaver, groaning. "Your loved ones will be your undoing."

"Or they could make me stronger," he retorted, pulling harder on the cravat.

Reaver chuckled darkly, though he could have also been coughing from a lack of air. Darius felt a hand grip his right hip; his eyes flew to his side to see that Reaver had stepped forwards so that he was no longer having to lean in; and now Reaver was but a mere foot from him, breathing in the same air as he.

A momentary silence occurred, with only their wispy breaths and the sounds of the sea to overcome it. Quietly, Darius noticed that he own heart racing and noticed that his hands were sweating (for Reaver's eyes and lips and charming skin were within inches of touching), but he was still angry.

"My Prince, must we continue to discuss such dreary topics?" Reaver asked tentatively, with a sideways smirk playing on his lips. "I am quite sure there are more…delightful things we can engage in together."

_So it is true, then – Reaver has been watching me_. For certainly no more than a few seconds, Darius imagined pulling on the cravat and causing their lips to meet. He longed to wipe that smirk from the man's face, and to discover if the tales of Reaver's confident prowess in the bedroom were true.

Darius cleared his throat. "You're very confident for a man within my grasp."

"You would not kill me, Prince. From what I have heard of your deeds, displacing a few minor accidents, you are too good a royal to kill a man in cold blood."

He snorted. "You clearly haven't heard all of my deeds then," he murmured, his voice low and husky with desire, but also disgust, as the nightmare from his first night aboard flashed through his mind. "I may not be a cold killer, Reaver, but I've learned to fight dirty over the years and I'm certainly not as _good_ as you might think I am."

Reaver snickered. "Why, my sweet rebellious Prince, I've no doubt in your ability to fight dirty." He pressed his forehead against Darius' in his mirth, smirking as Darius scowled. "But truly, you are no match for one such as I."

Darius couldn't restrain himself. Irritated by his mockery and scepticism, he pulled at the absurd yellow cravat and crushed his lips against Reaver's. It was smooth and hot and violent, as Reaver pressed his own against him almost instantly and with an equal amount of ferocity. Darius growled at the back of his throat, and he lifted the hand that wasn't clutching at Reaver's cravat to caress the small of his back, with a craving to feel the smooth skin and likely hardened muscles that lay beneath his blood-red coat.

Reaver's grasping hand, which had previously lain upon his hip, swept back his open coat and strayed beneath his shirt to grasp his hip, his thumb softly sweeping across, caressing even, the skin there, and causing Darius to gasp; whilst, with the other, Reaver dragged his nails over the back of his neck and through the lower strands of his dark, untamed hair. But Darius knew he shouldn't have expected anything less.

The stubble on Reaver's jaw scratched against his chin, and Darius delighted in the rough feeling of it. Practically pushed into his stomach, he could feel Reaver's dick hard and wanton for attention, as it was so much like his own against Reaver's thigh. But Darius held a firm grip on Reaver's cravat, and he dragged Reaver's bottom lip between his teeth, biting it – hard – before licking the wound softly. Reaver groaned and Darius continued with smug glee, kissing and nibbling his way at the skin lying in sight just above his cravat.

Reaver's skin tasted like ice, cold but smooth, and likely caused by the fresh sea air; and there was a hint of some husky, forest-like cologne that had Darius' mind running circles with arousal. But settling a teasing peck below his ear, and, as he ran his fingers lightly down Reaver's back, he returned his gaze to Reaver's expression.

His lips were inflamed and swollen, his cheeks had reddened, and his eyes had darkened to a shadowy blue; and, as Darius tauntingly drew patterns over Reaver's back, Reaver met his gaze with a lustful hunger. Reaver's grasp on the back of his neck hardened and he pulled Darius towards him, crushing their lips together, tightening his grip on his hip, and forcing his tongue into Darius' mouth, dragging it across the teeth that had so wickedly bitten him.

Reaver licked the top front teeth and pulled away, chuckling against his lips. "Truly, the notorious Gunslinger is a devious cad," he taunted, teasingly moving his lips to kiss Darius' stubbled jaw.

The hand at his neck swiftly seized Darius' hair and tugged it backwards. Darius gasped; his lips fell open, his cock twitched, and Reaver practically ravished his bottom lip with his teeth, tongue and lips. Darius' cock leaked against Reaver's thigh, so desperate for attention that Darius rubbed against him to ease the torment. Reaver could easily overwhelm his senses – and yet he wouldn't be subdued! He was far too stubborn and too hard to let Reaver have his way.

Panting as Reaver brushed his fingertips over his dick, eyes glimmering haughtily at having caused him to become so undone, Darius, with all his sheer Willpower, pushed Reaver by a hand backwards, but kept hold of the cravat with a curled fist. Reaver groaned as his arse and legs hit the crate, his hands forcibly displaced from Darius to steady himself against it.

Darius inched forwards; his eyes set on both the arousing and amusing sight in front of him, of Reaver glaring at him with his finely fashioned red trousers incapable of hiding his very obvious erection.

"For an infamous Pirate King, I bet even I could do a better job of it than you, Reaver," he whispered, his lips inches away from Reaver's.

Teeth bared and seething with irritation, for Darius knew he was playing with fire by mocking the industrialist, Reaver grasped Darius' buttocks and hauled him against his body once more.

"Is that so…do you truly think you could become a better pirate than I?" he murmured into Darius' earlobe, gently taking it between his teeth for a moment. He chuckled, "I earned that delightful little title decades ago, and you dare to imagine that you can seize it from me?"

Reaver's hands were wandering over his body. His coat was dragged from his body to settle on the floorboards, his hips were likely bruised from Reaver's hold on them, and his cock was most certainly throbbing against Reaver's thigh.

"Be assured, I will assist in placing your delectable _rear_ upon the throne, Prince, and in taking care of your country with my beloved industries," he growled, his hot breath tickling his earlobe, "but do not think for a mere moment that you can take what is mine."

"And why not?" Darius raged, his eyes daringly locking onto Reaver's. "What makes you so damn untouchable?"

"_I_ am Reaver," he seethed, moving into view with his teeth bared and eyes glowering, "and no one may take what belongs to me."

Darius snorted; Reaver's words carried no weight. Pinned against a heavy wooden crate, Reaver scarcely had any leeway to move. Darius moved his thigh only slightly to rub his cock against Reaver's hardened dick and, caught by the unexpected movement, Reaver gasped, his eyes closed and he leaned back his head.

Grinning, Darius preyed upon his neck, his free hand pulling at the man's soft, black locks. But Reaver's blue eyes opened, and they were no longer playful but angry and serious, and Darius smirked. Scowling, Reaver grabbed his cock and squeezed, causing Darius to cry out – whether in shock, desire or both – and step back, panting.

_Fucking hell, Reaver!_

Chuckling darkly, Reaver released his dick. But Darius was still hard as a rock and could scarcely think of much else, other than the knowledge that this _dalliance_ – or whatever it was – between them had to end!

He released the cravat, the silky material flowing through his fingers and dropping to lie against Reaver's coat.

_Damn it to all hells – I shouldn't be doing this with Reaver! Of all men, he's the most likely to shoot me in the back…_

Darius breathed in slowly and stepped further back, lest his desire consume him again. His body felt electrified; the industrialist's looks were infinitely both intimidating and desirable, but Darius determinedly ignored Reaver's smirking expression as he attempted to ease his racing heart.

"That man you saw me kill beneath the Market's Inn a few weeks ago," said Darius, seeking to move the subject away from speaking of their physical contact, "I picked him up the week earlier for a few quick shags. He, along with his lover, tried to kill me. I've had two wives, though both have died recently, one girlfriend who's engaged now to another man, and dozens of bedmates - and most of them were mercenaries, Reaver. Don't think that you're not the only one with an interesting past."

Reaver's eyebrows perked up. "I daresay, not quite so _interesting_ _yet_, my Prince, although your admittance I must praise. Many would rather choose to describe themselves as sweet little virgins than as sexual beings." He grinned, "Nevertheless, the number of your _conquests_ cannot be anywhere near as great as mine, but still…might I inquire as to hold old you are? You cannot be more than one-and-twenty, surely."

"I turned twenty-three last December, on the fourteenth."

"And yet you've already attained for yourself a master pistol," said Reaver, dexterously slipping the Black Dragon pistol from the holster at Darius' hip. Darius made to grab for it, but Reaver held onto the gun even as he gripped it as well, ensuring that Darius' fingers became wrapped around his.

"Reaver, release my gun. I can guarantee you won't like the consequences if you don't," warned Darius briskly, tightening his grip around Reaver's hand and mindfully readying his Will powers.

"Tutty, tutty, my Prince, you should not be so selfish with your toys," scolded Reaver, albeit playfully. "Besides, I merely wish to examine this beautiful device. I possess a great deal of knowledge on pistols, for they are the most swiftest of guns and a personal favourite of mine; and this gun holds a truly fascinating tale, if you should like to hear it."

"Fine," he said. "Just don't get any ideas in stealing it from me."

"It is said that this gun once belonged to the Sutcliff Hero of Skill, a man who lived in a land far east of Albion and who all the world believed was the most acute shooter of any gunman known," he remarked, sounding oddly testy. "Of course, this was untrue. Should he have ever set sail and crossed _moi_, he would met his reckoning end."

"You sound so sure," he retorted.

Reaver huffed. "There is none better than I with a gun – I have lived too long to know," he attested, eying Darius sternly. He sighed, "Nevertheless, the history of this gun goes further. It has a sibling pistol, as I understand it, and, as their owners continuously engaged in shoot-outs with each other, the guns similarly took on their traits. Sister to the legendary Red Dragon, it was eventually believed that this pistol grew jealous of its sibling, always accusing it of being adored more by it's owners."

Darius frowned. The history of the gun surprised him; he hadn't thought that his gun was at all infamous, and yet the description that Reaver proceeded to tell over its rivalry with its sibling, when recalling his own disputes with his own sibling, Logan, disturbed him.

Reaver hummed. "Even to this day, it is noted that this inferiority complex gives the Black Dragon pistol much of its bite. An interesting gun to wield, wouldn't you say?"

"Err – yes, very interesting."

"Well, I shouldn't keep you, Gunslinger. I am quite sure my crewmen have been up to no good upstairs, after all, and will have to reprimanded," chortled Reaver, humming almost deviously as he unlaced his fingers from the gun and slipped them out of Darius' reach. "But I do hope you keep in mind of our earlier conversation, for when we hit port in three days time."

Darius carefully noted in mind how little a time they had before hitting port now, but he couldn't help scrutinize Reaver's words. _What 'conversation' is he bloody referring to?_

"I'll keep our all conversations in mind, Reaver," Darius retorted carefully, "but I promise nothing."

Reaver tisked his tongue. "We already have our little business agreement, there is no need to further sully our relationship by introducing even more restrictive promises. Indeed, I, for one, hope to keep all our meetings as…_entertaining_ as this one."

Darius restrained himself from grabbing Reaver again; he wasn't quite sure whether he wanted to punch or kiss the man, or even instigate both, and thought it better that he should just not move at all.

In turn, Reaver brushed himself down, having been brutally shoved up against that crate, before he slid past him, walking towards the stairs and waving goodbye in an almost comical manner, considering that they had just been at each other's throats.

Darius sighed, and he turned to sit on the crate. Somehow, Reaver was capable of causing a tension in him that was beyond what he would normally experience amongst his sexual conquests, and whether this was because he was a fellow Hero, an infamous cad, or simply that he was a damnable handsome man, Darius knew ultimately that this _thing_ between them couldn't continue.

There was too much uncertainty about Reaver's motives, and Darius wasn't about to risk his son, his friends, and the revolution on idle wanton feelings for that infamous cad. But, nevertheless, Reaver was right in that he should return to Ben and the crewmen up top, lest Ben get himself too drunk.

He motioned himself to move from the crate, but stopped quickly when he felt the head of his hardened dick brush against the lower half of his stomach. _Gods damn him,_ Darius thought. _If for nothing else, I'll murder that vain git for leaving me blue-balled._

It wasn't until a few minutes later, when his betraying thoughts had calmed and his body relaxed (if only a little), that he moved to exit the lower decks in search of Ben and the crewmen.

/~~~\

Ever since that evening, Darius had done his utmost to avoid being in a room alone with Reaver, although this was hardly difficult when there were so many men abroad the ship. Oft more than not, he found himself working below deck, shifting crates around to help the cook – a man by the name of John – or cleaning the ship in some manner or another.

However, amidst the fifth night they'd spent at sea, a storm broke out. All the men were on the deck, tugging at the lines and hauling down and securing the main sail, but the waves were so vast and strong that most were just trying to keep themselves from being swept overboard. The wind and rain were also viciously attacking them; Darius had never been outside in such a storm, and if it weren't for Ben he knew not how he would have at first behaved.

"We're nearing the eye of the storm, Master Reaver," called the lookout boy from the crow's nest, "but I can see a clearing in the clouds - just straight ahead!"

A blanket of black clouds quilted the sky, and only the flashes of lightning had so far provided them light. A giant wave racked against the ship and a man went plummeting over the portside barrister, his screams echoing until the sea finally drowned out his voice.

"Haul the main sail down, if it catches alight it'll spread to the others," bellowed Reaver from the helm, his voice echoing his laughter across the ship; and Darius could scarcely fathom why he sounded so exhilarated by a storm.

Navigator Reginald had been one of the first men tossed overboard, having lost his grip on the wheel, and Darius, albeit reluctantly, now found himself trusting Reaver to get them through the storm. After all, Reaver was the most experienced sailor on board (or so he professed), and even Ben had let him take the wheel in favour of helping the hands on deck.

Ben was helping with the main sail's lines. There were three masts on the ship, but the main one – the middle – was of the utmost importance, for if it's sail caught alight then it could easily spread and the ship, without any sail to catch the wind, would likely be sent adrift.

Likewise, on the starboard side, Darius was tying down the cannons to the ship's floor with a thick rope. Other men were helping beside him, and yet, though he'd spent five days among them, he still would have preferred Ben's presence.

"Hurry and tie that thing up, Gunslinger," growled Terrie, another hand, "we've the port side to take care of as well, if no lads have taken care of it."

Terrie, albeit a hard woman, was an experienced sailor; she was only thirty, but she'd spent her life growing up on sailing ships. Ragged dark, wet hair lay plastered across her face, and her cold eyes stared Darius down until they returned to tying down her own cannon. Others were working beside him: two boys, an old man of fifty years, and a bald woman.

One of the boys, Leonard, who Darius reckoned was not yet even three-and-ten, was clinging desperately to the rope attached to the ship's floor, but his body scarcely had any muscles and his grip was noticeably faltering.

"Leo, you keep a hold of that rope!" raged Terrie. "You let go of that cannon and this whole ship and crew are at risk of getting whacked."

"Yes, mam'," called Leonard, "I'll try."

"You'd better do a darn sight more than try!"

The old man snorted. "The cannons won't matter if this storm don't let up!"

Wave after wave racked the ship; Darius stumbled, loosing his footing as water poured over the starboard side and drenched the crew. Darius clung to the rope with one hand and rubbed his eyes with the other. They were sore and likely blood-shot, and the raging storm still made it hard to see even if his eyes weren't aching terribly.

A great piercing bout of lightning struck the main sail, setting it aflame. The pelting rain watered out the flames that threatened to spread and the men managed to haul it down.

Darius hooked the rope around the metal loop attached to the floor and knotted it round half a dozen times before he finally tied it up, safely securing the cannon.

"I'm done with this one," he called.

"Good lad," said Terrie, "but help the youngens out. They're looking like they don't even know how to tie a knot."

"Oi, I'm sixteen, lady!" said the one whose name was unknown to Darius. He seemed sturdy enough, but Darius thought little of his ego, even if such an attitude was expected in youth. "And I've tied knots plenty of times before."

As Darius hesitantly approached the two boys, weary of every rocking movement the ship made, the eldest grinned at him.

"The name's Jeffery - and you're that Gunslinger guy, right?" he asked.

"Yeah, I am that Gunslinger guy," Darius murmured, rolling his eyes irritably. "But let's concentrate on fixing that cannon down. I don't fancy dying out here, eh…or do you?"

"We're not gonna die out here," he remarked confidently, as he handed Darius the sodden rope. "I've been sailing on ships for the last three years and not once have I been hauled overboard."

"Too busy cowering at that age, I bet," spat Terrie.

Jeffery scoffed.

"Thanks," said Jeffery. "Hey – look at that!"

A great wave was coming at them from the port side.

"Hold on ta something!" hollered Terrie, grabbing onto the wooden barrister.

Darius instantly made to follow and seized a firm hold of the barrister; Jeffery followed, and Leonard grabbed hold of the cannon. The sea hit them with all her sheer force. The cries of the crew – grunting and groaning – echoed all around them. Leonard cried out, for his hands were slipping against the golden metal of the cannon.

His legs were swept under him as the water whisked against them and he tumbled into the sideboard, his body sending a part of the barrister crashing into the sea and himself overboard. He clung to the edge of the ship's wooden deck by his fingertips, screaming.

"Help – please, please help!" he called.

Breathing in slowly, Darius crawled over and kneeled slightly over to grab the boy's arms. But as he grabbed him, trying to heave the lad back aboard, a great bolt of lightning struck the ship, setting a mast alight. The boy gasped and lost on the ship with his hands. He fell to the waves, and was clearly incapable of swimming.

Darius stared at the boy as a wave speedily sent him under and the ship rocking.

"Gunslinger – are you daft, man!" cried Terrie, hanging onto a part of the barrister still intact. "Get back and grab something!"

Darius nodded, acting if only on instinct, for his thoughts were still on the boy. He grabbed hold of the side, but another wave racked against the ship. His rope-burnt fingers slipped, his feet lost their balance under the water that drenched the decks, and he went sprawling, headfirst and arms outspread, overboard.

He cried out. His body hurtled into the water; and a distant splashing noise, faint to his ears, followed. Fearfully, with his eyes wise open and mouth agape from the shock of falling, he instantly closed it and, kicking fiercely, brought himself back to the surface. He floated, shivering, and continued to kick with all his might.

However sodden he had been whilst aboard _The Reaver_, it was nothing compared to the startling rush of bitter cold wind against his shivering, soaked body. He couldn't swim – the thought struck him! No one had ever instructed him, for there had neither been any need nor clean enough water nearby the castle to practice.

In fear, he splattered his arms against the waves and he spluttered as mouthfuls of water threatened to choke him. His lungs felt frozen, he could scarcely even breathe; and he couldn't feel his legs. They were numb, and yet he was sure he was kicking for his life.

"DARIUS!" a voice hollered over the fierce noise of the storm.

"Help!" he hollered, half-panicking. "BEN!"

He spotted Ben amidst the waves, swimming towards him. The waves seemed powerless to his strokes and, though soaked and breathless reaching him, where he then immediately made a grab for his hand, Ben nonetheless seemed far more confident than him in the water.

"I can't – I can't swim," Darius babbled, as he spat out mouthfuls of seawater.

"The men are getting a rope ladder, we'll be okay," spluttered Ben. "Just kick with your feet, mate, okay? Just kick with your feet."

"That's what I have been doing," he spat.

Ben groaned. "Over here, lads!" he shouted.

A ladder was dropped from the ship, although Darius could scarcely see the ladder without seawater infiltrating his already aching eyes. Nevertheless, Ben seized Darius' collar and practically dragged him towards it. He began to climb; and sure enough, they soon made it safely over halfway up. But the ladder was soaked and the waves were barreling against them, so hard that if it weren't for the crewmen holding it the ladder would've gone flying.

Darius had scarcely placed his hand on the ship's barrister before he heard Ben's scream.

"Argh!" he yelled.

Hearing his cries, Darius turned his head. He watched as Ben slammed against the water; and Darius only saw his eyes glance up in alarm, before a rapid bout of waves sent him under. Darius leapt off the ladder and dived in after him, only to lose sight of the soldier. The water was black beneath the waves, as dark as the blanked sky above, and Darius heaved himself up to the surface when his need for air became too much.

"Ben!" he called out, his chest heaving and mind racing with fear.

Surely, as the soldier was a far better swimmer than he, Ben should've been able to swim up to the surface easily. Darius stared frantically around him, only to spot Ben's body rising to float not a few feet from the ladder. Taking a deep lungful of air, Darius forced himself to swim over to him, kicking his feet against the waves. He knew – and feared – that, if he hadn't the strength of a Hero, he would have drowned long ago.

Hauling Ben over his shoulder, Darius climbed the ladder to safety. He tossed the soldier onto the deck; and, half crazed with worry and from the intense cold, crawled over to check he was breathing. Mercifully, Darius found he was in fact breathing, but Ben's heartbeats were faint, his lips held a faint blue tone, and he remained unconscious.

Several of the crew members brought over blankets; Darius took two and started drying himself quickly off, whilst Terrie, bending to kneel beside Ben, checked for any injuries. As she leaned him up on her knees, Ben's mouth fell open and he coughed up numerous mouthfuls of seawater. The soldier's eyelids flickered up, seemingly struggling to stay open, before they drooped and closed once more.

"Why's he coughing?" Darius demanded. "Is he awake?"

Terrie scoffed. "James ain't awake, that was only his body choking up all that seawater he likely swallowed," she murmured gruffly. She began probing and poking at his muscles, particularly around his spinal area. "He may be alive and breathing well enough, Gunslinger, but he hit that water pretty hard in case ya didn't notice or forgot. I'll be surprised if he didn't here break a bone or two."

Ben's health was greatly disquieting; the crew were either working, struggling against the now mercifully settling waves, or, as most were giving the impression, just standing around them, waiting silently for Terrie to speak.

"Is he alive?" asked a voice.

Darius turned his head and gazed up, watching as Reaver walked down from the helm and onto the deck. Terrie nodded as he swiftly approached them.

"He's sleeping, Master Reaver," she said. "He's alive, breathing, and don't have a concussion from what I can tell, but I can't really say more about it, sir. Although, it would do well to have these two well rested after taking a dip in the sea. I mean, speaking plainly, Master Reaver, I've known men to die from colds and the like."

Reaver sighed, seemingly out of sheer frustration. The black heart he had so perfectly drawn on this morning now lay smeared across his check, and his red and gold highwayman suit stood out against his pale skin, giving him an almost eerie, ghostly appearance. But, no matter his appearance, Reaver's presence quickly brought the rest of the crew into motion, as they ventured off in search of more blankets or to return to their duties.

"Tis good that you are both alive," Reaver murmured, his eyes skimming from Darius onto Ben, before returning to Terrie. "Have the soldier carried into my quarters…as my _guest_, he must be well rested for when we arrive at Bloodstone's port."

After attempting to dry Ben off as best they could, two of the crewmen then carried him through the wooden oval-shaped doors at the opposite end of the deck, leading them into Reaver's quarters. Darius followed, watching as the men laid Ben's body upon Reaver's master bed. The dark-tinted rouge of Reaver's quilt ironically disturbed Darius, who found he could only attribute it now to the colour of blood.

Reaver's quarters were just as exquisitely furnished as Darius had expected them to be, but the place was also a mess, likely caused by the storm. Inside the bedroom lay numerous chairs scattered about, with one beside the wardrobe even having lost a wooden leg, and several smashed wine bottles along the rouge carpet floor.

"You brusque-looking boys, start cleaning up this mess – and if I see a single shard of glass, I'll have your hides thrown out to sea," ordered Reaver briskly, waving a hand at the glass lying beneath both his writing and vanity desks. "Terrie, inform me: is our _guest_ well enough that he'll make it to port? Has our valiant Cut-throat James sustained any injuries that would require immediate attention?"

"He appears fine, sir. He hit his back, but nothing looks broken and it don't look like he has a fever yet. His spine might be bruised, though, but we'll not know until the lad wakes up whether he'll be fine or not," she murmured. "I'm afraid I don't have the medical experience to tell, sir."

"A pity. I had dearly hoped the fool would have earned himself a broken rib, or two, if we were lucky," muttered Reaver, clearly displeased.

"Reaver," warned Darius, gritting his teeth.

Reaver tusked his tongue playfully. "Oh, do not threat, my dear, I am sure James shall be fine."

Terrie coughed abruptly into her hand, clearly having been taken ill by the storm.

"Master Reaver, will that be all?" she asked tentatively, sweeping her dripping wet hair from her eyes.

"Ah, yes – back to business," said Reaver. "Now, Terrie, you –"

"Ouch!"

The gunshot that followed came as swiftly as Darius' protest, though his voice went ignored. One of the men fell face-first from his knees onto the floor, with a newly acquired bullet wound through his skull. Darius turned his gaze and glared furiously at Reaver, despite how he was shivering beneath the blankets wrapped around him.

"I simply loathe being interrupted by simpletons," Reaver seethed, eyes locking onto the other hand. "You, now – get out! Fling that nitwit overboard and return to your duties. I'll have this place cleaned when we hit port in the morn…though, it is a pity to have wasted such a fine selection of wine."

Darius snorted. "You didn't have to shoot the man, Reaver."

"My sincerest apologies, then, Gunslinger, for this awful display when you are feeling so…weak," droned Reaver, his eyes swiftly skimming from the hand, who was quickly exiting the room with the bucket and the dead corpse, on to Darius, "but if, you'll recall our discussions, you were informed not to trifle in my affairs. Should your desire to instruct _moi_ about for some unfathomable reason persist, and though I would never allow my being to be _bossed_ about, you should consider first purchasing your own darling vessel before attempting such an impossible quest."

Reaver turned from him towards the bedside, facing Terrie once again.

"Now, Terrie, you may leave us," ordered Reaver briskly, sheathing his pistol. "Ensure that it is known across the ship that Navigator Reginald has deceased, that his body flew overboard during the storm, and that you have been placed in charge. At port, I will inform you of your new duties and title, but until then have the crew mop up the deck and watch for any sign of a return of the storm, for I have no desire to face Mother Nature's wrath – or any mother for that matter – again tonight."

"Yes, Master Reaver…and thank you," said Terrie, bowing gratefully; and she left without another word, closing the door behind her.

Reaver took his gaze away from the door, locking eyes with Darius, who pointedly stared him down. Curiosity ate away at his insides; and Darius raised his eyebrows, as if were daring Reaver to speak. But Reaver bared his teeth angrily – and Darius was instantly reminded of the other night, when Reaver seized his hip, brutally tugged at his hair, snogged him, and left him alone and still aroused down in the hull.

With a heated expression, Reaver marched across the room until he stood no more than an inch from Darius.

"You're a blasted fool!" Reaver seethed, unsheathing his pistol and bringing it to Darius' throat. "A bloody fool, who hasn't a care for his own damned life," he continued viciously.

Darius' lips fell agape, and he cursed at himself for dropping his guard. _Reaver would really kill me, after all this?_ He pushed off the blankets the crewmen had brought him, allowing them to drop to the floor, and seized Reaver's wrists, attempting to drag the hand holding the deadly gun away from his throat.

Reaver snorted at his feeble attempts. Taking his gun momentarily away, he shoved Darius into the nearest wall with his hands, leaving him to moan as his head painfully hit the wall before his back could first make contact.

"One even has to wonder how you have survived this long," murmured Reaver, seemingly indifferent to Darius' pain. "Logan would not have risked his life – and yet, why is it that his younger sibling must insist on doing so?"

The gun was at his neck again, and Reaver's other hand settled upon his hip. Darius drew in an uneasy, if slightly aroused, breath of air; the memory of Reaver's touch on his hip, caressing him, was all too clear in his mind.

"Because I care more about people than my brother ever will – and you, for that matter," he growled, making to place his hands once again on Reaver's upper arms, attempting to keep him from enclosing in further.

"Truly, then, you are more of a fool than I imagined. You would have drowned yourself for the sake of that hand, or your beloved soldier?" he spat, his rage ebbing off his words. "Would they have been worth your life, Prince?"

"_Would_ you risk shooting me now, Reaver?" Darius seethed, glowering and tightening his grip on Reaver's biceps. "And as for _that_ hand, the boy's name was Leonard! If I could have saved him from drowning, I would have. And Ben Finn, he isn't just some soldier - he's my friend, too. I know you aren't capable of understanding the concept of friendship, but he jumped in to save my life and I would – I did – do the same for him."

"Confound it, your life is of more value than that hand's or your petty soldier's!"

Darius snorted. "I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for, as you say, _my_ soldier," he retorted, removing his arms from Reaver and folding them stubbornly.

Reaver scoffed – loudly. "I saw how he stupidly fell from that ladder. Although you may be a _Hero_, Prince, it was not necessary to dive in after him! No Hero can survive a case of drowning, no matter how much you may wish it," he scorned mockingly, sheathing his gun and moving towards the door, grasping hold of the doorknob. He sighed, hesitating, "Though, your…_companion_ may rest here the night whilst I steer the ship to port. Take off his clothing; he will need some other attire to wear if he is not to acquire a fever or some other tedious illness by morning, and though I would much rather desire to see you dressed in my clothes in a more pleasing circumstance, you and he may use my garments from the wardrobe to simply keep warm for the night."

Darius simply nodded. Whatever his reasoning was, whether he was acting generously, attempting to gain more of the Prince's good favour, or was interested solely in lustful ideas, Reaver was being surprisingly attentive to their needs, despite how his mood had evidently been a foul one not even a few moments ago.

"Thank you, Reaver," he murmured, grateful, "…you didn't have to let us use your quarters."

Reaver's grip upon the doorknob clearly tightened; his knuckles turned white, even.

But he shrugged indifferently, "Think nothing of it. My sole concern, as I've previously affirmed, is in retaining my beloved industries through whatever means available to me. And while I wouldn't dream of questioning our King Logan, for his rule has been most profitable to such industrious persons as myself, one cannot deny that there has been a significant rising amount of rebels as of late. Wouldn't you concur, my sweet _rebellious_ Prince?"

"Right," Darius murmured, scoffing lightly. "Always on both sides, eh, Reaver?"

Reaver turned from the door, smirking.

"Oh, most always."

Reaver then exited room quietly, clicking the door shut behind him. Eyebrows sceptically raised, Darius released a long, aggravated sigh and sat in the nearest available chair to him, placing his head in his hands.

"Gods above, how am I to deal with him?" he said, groaning softly under his breath. "Bloody, sodding Reaver."

Darius gazed up to stare at Ben's motionless form, and sighed. He raised himself to his feet and moved over to the wardrobe, praying silently to himself that his friend would awaken by the time they hit Bloodstone's port.


End file.
